West of the Moon, East of the Sun
by CRMediaGal
Summary: An Elven king without family or love. An Elleth without residence or optimism. Both are looking for the same thing, if only they could spot it in each other. A tale of forgiveness, renewed hope, and love. Thranduil x Tauriel. Post-BotFA, The Hobbit era.
1. Awarth (Abandonment)

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! **

**I've fallen - nay, crashed hard and burned - into _The Hobbit_ fandom. (Nothing like being ridiculously behind all of the hype!). Thus, I have a brand spankin' new story to share with you for this new obsession of mine. It demanded to be written, so I intend to see it through. :) **

**Important Notes Before Reading: This story marks my first foray into writing this rare pairing, which I've grown immensely fond of, as well as writing for the Tolkien fandom, so I beg your patience with me throughout this process. (Tolkien's world is quite overwhelming, to put it lightly). You may feel free to point out any inaccuracies you find, but please do bear in mind that this is a work of _fanfiction _and, therefore, _everything_ will be deviating from canon to a certain extent. As such, this fic follows the movie version of _The Hobbit_ (and some of _The Lord of the Rings_), not J. R. R. Tolkien's epic novels.****** I've researched certain aspects where its necessary, though (and hopefully accurately!). ****

****Fic is rated M for later mature content. I sincerely hope that readers of the Tolkien fandom will enjoy this tale as much as I'll be enjoying writing it.****

**Lastly, to my wonderful usual (SSHG!) readers, not to worry. I'm still working on all of my WIPs, as well as some new material for you. Feel free to follow along, though, if you'd like!**

**_**_Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! Without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing._**__**_  
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**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Artwork is entitled "lotr - because it was real" and credited to ItanHimitsu on DeviantArt.**

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_**West of the Moon, East of the Sun**_

**By CRMediaGal**

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**Chapter 1: Awarth (Abandonment)  
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* * *

'Because it was real.'

That had been the mighty king's reply to the Elleth's sorrow. His words had been arresting, too; long-lasting and still heavily engraved in her mind.

So simple, so profound,_ so befitting..._

Tauriel had repeated them over and over to herself since then—that painful, exquisite truth that spoke of her heart's agonising despair—and yet, in the long, lonely year since her experience with grief had first began, she had gained no parting wisdom from its cruel message. It's repetition hadn't lessened the ache that continued to crush her heart, sucking whatever light out of her being it could devour.

_It doesn't matter_, she told herself. _Nothing matters anymore._

Indeed Tauriel, a once esteemed and spirited captain of the Mirkwood guards, had her flickering moments where the clouds momentarily parted and showed her the travelling stars—quick glimpses of brightness in an otherwise desolate darkness, of which she found no peace or quiet—but the utter hopelessness and loss still lingered on, hanging about her immortal person like a burden unshed, never seemingly intended to be parted.

_How much longer?_

Did mortals tend to mourn their losses forever? How could such a tremendous weight such as Grief be endured? Surely, the pain that Tauriel felt would as easily kill a mortal being, so how did they manage to carry on? How would _she_ carry on, particularly without anywhere to call home, where she might be permitted respite and rest from her weary heart?

Tauriel had lost track of time ages ago and wandered the outer realms of her homeland without much thought. The amount of tears she had shed since Kíli's passing at the Battle of the Five Armies couldn't be accounted, nor could the Elleth recall how she had survived to the present day.

Again, there wasn't much consideration for the day to day. One year in the life of an Elf was only a blink of the eye to mere mortals; a single exhale of breath.

_It means nothing._

Under the setting sun in Éothéod, where Tauriel had kept camp to the far east, she dwelled alone—a wanderer; a lone Elf with no permanent residence or kindred spirits to sing and dance and rejoice in the changing of the ages.

_You're alone, Tauriel. There is no going back, forward, sideways... Anywhere._

Tauriel watched the sun sneak behind the Lonely Mountain, her emerald eyes hollow and unlife-like as they turned, with morbid heartache, towards the direction of where the dwarf who had once captured her heart was decayed and buried. It was there that he lay in death alongside his brother and their king, Thorin, passing into memory, into shadow...

_Where I cannot follow._

'Do you think she could have loved me?' the dwarf had asked her once, gazing upon Tauriel as though she was someone else and not the shining star of his deepest wish.

_If only I'd answered. If only I'd told him, 'Yes'._

The sky grew pink, purple, and then black, nightfall disguising Tauriel's lamented tears as she retreated to her camp to cry another night. Alone.

* * *

_"Ada!"_

_The Elven king, Thranduil, gently turned his head in search of the source of such a splendid, musical greeting. Internally, he wanted to wail; to wrap up his son—the only family he had left—in his arms and never, ever let him go. He refrained from succumbing to his personal sorrows. This was a celebration as much as a bittersweet victory for their people, and he wouldn't spoil it with tears._

_The king's sharp eyes spotted young Legolas amongst the crowd of well-wishers—their people—who had gathered at the front gates to welcome their king and his legions home from battle. There was much singing and rejoicing, with tossings of dying flowers and autumn leaves being strewn at his feet. The elven prince was no more than three feet high, but his lightness of foot was on proud display as he snuck softly between gatherers, fast approaching the grand elk his father rode and sporting the handsomest of grins to welcome him home._

_"Lonneg," Thranduil returned quietly, arms outstretched to receive the child gladly._

_Using the leg of the enormous beast to boost himself into the air, the Elven prince, Legolas, swung up and into his father's embrace, his tinier arms wrapping eagerly around Thranduil's neck._

_"Ada! You've returned!" he exclaimed happily, smiling as Thranduil pressed a feathery kiss to the top of his pale head._

_"I have." Thranduil reared back to return his son's bright smile, but his crystal blue eyes hinted at something else; something far graver than the ceremony that greeted him, weighing heavily upon his heart in such a way that it couldn't be contained from the highly perceptive child. "My, but how much you've grown!" the king added, his attempt at laughter short-lived._

_Legolas's blue irises, also as sharp as the kings, grew thoughtful. "Ada," he pressed Thranduil in a whisper, his gaze darting about the king's face, "where is Nana?"_

_Thranduil's strained smile slipped his mouth, surprising Legolas as his father's eyes turned watery and the beautiful lines on his face soured and deepened. He lips wove tightly together, too, the words that followed seemingly difficult to release._

_"Legolas," Thranduil began delicately, his register small and tender, "my son... Nana has..."_

_"Yes, Ada?" asked the child seriously; he angled his head of golden hair, waiting._

_Thranduil pressed Legolas closer to his chest, bringing them forehead to forehead. "Nana has...fallen."_

_Thranduil watched the prince blink a few times, his mind—and heart—trying to process the gravity of these words. "Nana?" Legolas repeated, staring up at Thranduil imploringly; the innocence in that cherished face shattered the king's heart. "She's...gone, Ada?"_

_"Yes, Legolas... Nana is gone. She fell...in battle."_

_Thranduil closed his eyes and rested his head against Legolas's, who, for a long moment, continued to search his father's tragic face, as though he required a more in-depth explanation for his mother's absence. The queen had gone off to fight alongside her king. The prince had never doubted that she wouldn't return with him. His mother and father were never without each other. How could it be so now, and forevermore?_

_Thranduil hugged his son tightly, feeling the little Elf shift and wiggle within his all-consuming embrace; but, he couldn't let go. He wasn't ready. After all he had lost, he couldn't lose the child as well, so he held on with all his might._

_Then a pair of miniature lips suddenly kissed the side of Thranduil's cheek, where a lone tear had fallen, unseen by the masses but caught by the young prince. With difficulty, Thranduil's eyes opened to receive Legolas's childlike warmth and fondness, unchanged despite the terribly sad news. The Elven prince re-secured his arms around his father's neck and whispered words into his ear that now haunted Thranduil every hour of the day._

_"I'm sorry Nana's gone," he murmured mournfully. "I shall never leave you, Ada."_

Thranduil's jaw unconsciously tightened as he sat in the solitary silence of his bedchambers, the trimmings and furnishings of which had been carved from the oldest oak of the forest. Here, he listened intently to the leaves that crumbled and withered outside, viewable beyond his open windows. He heard every single one as it detached from a branch and descended to the ground on the shoulders of the wind, seemingly without a sound. The ear of an Elven king heard them as they came to rest, however, one by one.

Today, and like many before it, such merciful signals from nature brought Thranduil no tranquility. Instead, the sight and sound of each falling leaf was like pouring salt into an old wound that refused to heal. It festered and worsened, piercing him with emotional pain and turmoil unmatched since the death of his beloved wife.

_He's gone, Vanya, and likely never to return. I lost you, and, now, my son is lost to me._

Thranduil inhaled a deep breath, wishing to still his bleak thoughts. How much more agony and suffering must he personally withstand? Had he not led his people for thousands of years with just, wisdom, and goodwill?

His family was gone, his lineage now forsaken. All the world would inevitably turn to darkness, and he and those of his people who remained would be called upon yet again to aid in the war against Sauron. How much more Elven blood must be spilt? How many more immortal lives must be cut short under _his_ command?

_None._

Thranduil's grip upon his carven staff of oak tightened as a gentle breeze kicked up and swept through the palace windows, catching on the king's long golden hair, whipping it freely about his shoulders.

Would it not be best to sail to the Grey Havens now, and be done with this godforsaken realm that had brought upon him nothing but ruin and misery?

_No. Not while my son still roams out there...somewhere...beyond my reach._

'I cannot go back,' had been Legolas's parting words to his father last they crossed paths at the Battle of the Five Armies a year ago.

In the end, Legolas's departure hadn't been unexpected, but it wounded Thranduil, nevertheless, to watch his son go.

Regardless of their differences of opinion on many crucial matters, none more so then the growing spread of Sauron's dark influences in the world, they had always had one another's backs. Father's and son's petty arguments and disagreements were many, particularly as Legolas grew older, but, still, they remained as close as ever, their bond unbreakable; or, as it turns out, so Thranduil had wrongfully believed.

_To think he would choose..._her _over me!_

The pounding in Thranduil's head was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of an Elven maid, who brought forth his requested wine and dinner for the evening in a silver goblet on a matching silver platter.

Thranduil hastily dismissed her and helped himself to his first sip of the wine, the contents of which trickled smoothly down the back of his throat, easing some of the unwritten tension festering within.

_Legolas wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for _her_ influence!_ his conscious heatedly toiled over._ That notorious Captain of the Guard! I should never have allowed him so much freedom, Vanya. Our son was so easily swayed by Tauriel; too good-natured to see past her charms to the faults within her character._

In a flash, Thranduil was on his feet and circling the room with fierce stride and power, the skin on the left-side of his face shrinking to nothing but alarmingly red, taut muscle. His left eye, too, glowed misty and grey, no longer Elf-like but something far more sinister and terrible.

_I was right to have banished her; that treacherous, faithless dog! Because of Tauriel, I have lost my family. I have lost everything that is near and precious to me, including my only son._

Thranduil's robes billowed from behind as he stalked to a window and looked out upon the far reaches of his realm. All was calm, undisturbed, but for the thoughts raging in the angry king's mind.

_May she bemoan her disloyalty. May she never know peace, just as I have hardly known of it myself._

'I cannot go back.' The words wrung in the Elven king's head louder and more bitter than ever, turning over and over without rest.

_Nor can I, my son. Nor can I.  
_

* * *

That morning started out like any other: uneventful, mundane, and entirely typical.

Tauriel awoke at dawn's first light, unable to fall back asleep (and not really caring whether or not that she had the freedom to choose). A light rain had fallen during the night, marking the ground and caking it with mud. Tauriel cared not. She set out for the river, an approximate six-mile hike on foot; but, for an Elf, such an endeavour was hardly tiresome. She arrived in virtually no time at all, unmindful of the picturesque walk that had brought her to this treasured spot.

Well, not treasured. _Expected_, more like.

The leaves had long since turned to a speckle of lush golden fires and crimson reds, though Tauriel paid the changing of the season little mind. Such natural transformations were of great importance to her kin and normally celebrated at the first full moon, but, as Tauriel was no longer a part of the Woodland realm, she couldn't find the joy in her heart to commemorate the coming of autumn; certainly, not on her own.

_What does it matter?_ For the always veering Elleth, the answer was continuously the same: _None of it matters anymore._

Tauriel sought refuge beneath an enormous mound of rock to wash her clothes with limited supplies she had gathered on her aimless journey. It had probably been a week since she had last bathed, but cleanliness was another importance the former Elven captain found herself not keeping track of. Besides, she had found that any lingering stench she carried kept strangers at a distance, and that was an added welcome. Most were too suspicious at spotting a wandering Elf of no homage to bother her, and Tauriel hadn't the patience or the will to explain her story to those who were curious.

What a juicy tale the locals would make of Tauriel's plight, if they knew: an Elleth banished by her king for disobeying his command that she return home rather than track Orcs, only to meet him on the battlefield, where she defied him further by pointing an arrow directly at his face, threatened to kill him should he attempt to pass, and proclaimed to him and their people who bore witness that 'there was no love' in her king.

_A juicy tale indeed_, she scoffed as she headed back to her camp by dusk, the clothes on her back now properly dry and unsoiled.

The ground was no longer mucky, making the trek far easier on foot, though, as an Elf, Tauriel hardly required good weather on her side to saunter her way back with success. She reached camp as the last of daylight settled behind the Lonely Mountain, only realising as she crept into her tent that she hadn't eaten a thing all day.

_Too much effort_, she determined without much consideration, and quickly settled in for the night. _Perhaps I'll eat something tomorrow._

_Or you could let yourself waste away?_

_Don't be a fool. You're hardly the 'type' to off yourself. What kind of an Elf would resort to such measures? No, Tauriel... Centre yourself. Besides, if you'd _really_ wanted to die back there on the mountain, you'd have done so._

_If only..._

_Yes... If only I'd died with him._

Tauriel's heavy eyelids closed, and, soon, she was fast asleep, dreaming of another time, not very long ago, when she had come so close to uttering the one word that might have changed everything for her and the dwarf she had grown to love: 'Yes'.

_Yes... I could have loved him._

Tauriel wasn't aware of the cloaked group of twelve who descended upon her tent until it was almost too late. The barely audible snap of twigs outside her tent shot the former captain of the king's guard eyes open, her bow and arrows at the ready. Although highly skilled in combat, Tauriel wasn't equipped to outfight twelve of her own kin, and the startling realisation of _who_ she was fighting against cost her the initial advantage in hearing their approach.

Disoriented, and thoroughly confused by the appearance of Elven guards in these parts, Tauriel found herself swiftly overrun and dragged away from her camp under the cover of darkness, into the thickest parts of the forest where she could no longer see the stars.

_Perhaps...at last...I'm to meet my end._

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

_**Elleth = Female Elf**_

_**Ada = Daddy**_

_**Lonneg = My son**_

_**Nana = Mommy**_

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**A/N #2: Here we go! **

**I was anxious to get this posted, but I'll be working to try to post new chapters about once a week, if not every other. They'll likely be longer than this, too, but we'll see.  
**

**Your feedback is greatly appreciated! Please let me know your thoughts via the Review Box below. I'd love to hear from you! :) _  
_**


	2. Gumlaith (Weariness of Spirit)

**A/N: WOW! Thank you _so, so_ much for all your Follows, Favs, and, especially, feedback on Chapter 1! I'm thrilled to have both new and old readers alike interested in following this little tale along, so many kudos to ya'll for being here! :)**

**This chapter came together much quicker than I anticipated. However, to those unfamiliar with my work, I have a couple WIPs in play at the moment, so updates will likely be once a week (if not a bit longer) from here on. If you can bear with me and be patient, I promise to (hopefully!) make each chapter worth your while.  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.  
**

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**Chapter 2: Gumlaith (Weariness of Spirit)**

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After minutes of being manhandled by two aggressive guards, whose hands were securely coiled about her arms, Tauriel managed to break free of their excruciating confines; but, that was as far as she managed before a series of arrows were pointed at her from every direction.

"I don't require your pushing and shoving to walk obediently!" she bravely snapped at them, emerald eyes aglow with suppressed uncertainty as they darted from Elven guard to Elven guard before her.

Tauriel recognised their faces, though each tried to feign their own awareness of who _she_ was. She had once trained them as their captain, and yet, she was now on the opposite end of what had once been cordial relations based upon mutual respect and regard.

Tonight, she was a mere prisoner in their cold-stone eyes; an Elleth of no particular value or importance.

"You will come with us," said the guard seemingly heading this outing, his eyes razor-edged as they stared at Tauriel like that of a stranger; he refused to lower his bow and arrow an inch, the others following his lead.

The guard's blatant lack of trust pained Tauriel to witness. Firverior, a Silvan Elf of the same rank as herself, with long, auburn hair and intensely dark eyes, had been Tauriel's friend for centuries. She considered him a trusted companion amongst their highly fighting-skilled kin; one of the best in combating the spiders of the south that had been attacking Mirkwood by the hundreds. The manner in which Firverior stared her down this night, with such displeasure and disdain in his eyes as she had never seen, was a hardship not easily withstood, and Tauriel glanced elsewhere, unable to maintain eye contact.

"On what grounds?" she challenged, her voice quickly losing its edge.

"That's between you and your king," Firverior answered stiffly, jolting Tauriel where her feet were rooted to the soil.

"I serve no king," she whispered in return, her upper lip curling with discontent.

Firverior's eyes flashed with anger and betrayal. "You're an Elf of the Woodland realm, Tauriel. You have a king, and it is to _him_ whom you shall answer."

"As I recall, I was banished by the king. I am no longer an Elf of the Woodland realm."

"Banishment does not erase one's ancestral privilege," Firverior retorted, uncompromising; at last, he lowered his bow, and the eleven guards circling Tauriel did likewise, though they kept their sharp attention on their red-haired captive.

"Why am I being summoned to the king?" Tauriel pressed, raising her hands into the air, befuddled. "I don't understand."

"As I've told you, that's a matter between you and your king." Tauriel intended to say more, but Firverior cut her off. "Come. He's awaiting our return."

With the swirling shimmer of his cloak, which caught the moonlight peaking through the trees, Firverior turned on his heel and stalked off, commanding his fellow guards to do likewise in Elvish. The two who had previously had Tauriel hostage by the arms moved in to reclaim their grasps, but she swiftly waved them off, staring them down as courageously as she was able. They drew backward, hands automatically reaching for their arrows.

"I said I can walk," she hissed between clenched teeth and walked on, finding herself immediately flanked by watchful, mistrustful Elves on all sides.

_What could King Thranduil possibly want with me now...except to, perhaps, do away with me?_

* * *

Thranduil had retreated to his private study by mid-day, determined not to be disturbed for the remainder; or, for as long as he could bargain on _not_ being needed on the many matters that required his attention.

Seated at the end of a vast, elaborately carved desk of treasured oak, Thranduil finished penning a correspondence to a friend abroad, whose own written message to the Elven king had carried worrisome rumours; gossip that began in the east, quickly passing through Mirkwood and beyond.

Thranduil sat back in his oversized chair to ponder these angst-filled whispers; poisonous hearsay that would only ravage and corrupt Middle-earth's inhabitants, if they allowed it to consume them.

The supposed coming of a Second Darkness—hell-bent on plunging Middle-earth into Sauron's servitude—wasn't exactly new information. Every faint rumour that spread on the wind was deeper cause for concern, however.

_Worthless gossip_, the collected ruler in Thranduil insisted to those who looked to him for council and strength. Inwardly, the rumours troubled him greatly, however, and not simply because the terrible inkling of such a coming had afflicted his soul for many, many moons but because...

_My son is out there._

There was little doubting that Legolas would see fit to join the burdensome, trying battles of Middle-earth that lay ahead. By now, he had surely secured the whereabouts of Aragorn—at Thranduil's suggestion before their parting—and, if what Lord Elrond had once told him in confidence was true, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would eventually be persuaded to turn from his path of exile and take his rightful place amongst his people.

_Or so we can only hope._

His son would naturally wish to see such a prevail for Men as much as any other Elf in the kingdom, Thranduil included. It wouldn't be in Legolas's good nature to turn his back on those in need of help, either, particularly when the fate of Middle-earth was at stake.

_No... He won't stop until he sees this world's greatest hopes fulfilled._

Thranduil wished the same for Middle-earth, of course, but, unlike the Elven prince, it would not come at the expense of more bloodshed from his kin. _No._ He had witnessed too much needless death, heinous destruction, and crippling despair to forsake his people's lives one more time. Too many had been slaughtered at the Battle of the Five Armies, and at wars raged before then. The many Elves Thranduil had witnessed fall at the foot of the Lonely Mountain was, for their king, the final straw.

_No more._

If only his son had understood the extraordinary difficulties of kingship, of protecting one's people, and of having so much blood on his hands—and marked on his shattered soul—for the rest of eternity.

_If only..._

Perhaps then Legolas wouldn't have looked upon him as he had the day he left: with disappointment and disdain.

Thranduil was well-aware of how others had misconstrued his image, referring to him as nothing more than an 'opportunist', 'heartless' and 'self-serving'. It was the price a protective king paid in order to defend what was rightfully his. For Thranduil, that was and always would be Mirkwood and all his faithful kin who dwelled therein. His impassioned wish to keep their way of life secure was of the utmost importance, ever since he had come to rule the Woodland realm thousands of years ago.

It was onerous to try to persuade those who opposed his way of thinking—and manner of ruling—to his position and outlook on Sauron and his endless thirst for power. That outspoken former captain of his and, later, Legolas had proven two of his most strident opponents on such matters. Not in all regards, but in many.

Still, the rationale to not spill anymore immortal blood for the sake of Middle-earth's perilous cause remained Thranduil's unyielding stance, no matter what his son—and others like the forthright Tauriel—opined to the contrary.

_If only they could understand. If only they'd seen what _I_'ve seen..._

With a graceful air, Thranduil rose from his chair and roamed about the grand room, decorated in splendid carvings of old and personal trinkets that reminded him of memories past, painful as they may be: a fancy, golden box containing the magnificent white stones Thranduil had gifted to his late wife, later returned to him by the Dwarves; ancient tomes filled with the glorious tales of their people, which he had often read to Legolas as a child, much to the prince's delight; crystal broaches once worn by the brave warriors of his kin, who had fought alongside their king and died defending him. Thranduil kept every fallen Elf's broach as a sore reminder of their great sacrifice: the stripping of their immortal life.

Thranduil halted before the large wooden chest that contained these broaches and carefully opened the lid. The chest was near overflowing with the majestic symbol of Mirkwood—of Elves past slain—and the overwhelming amount wrenched at his heart. They had all been his soldiers once, and that of his father's—every single one—and all that was left of them now was a crystal series of branches.

_So senseless. So reprehensible._

Thranduil cast the lid shut at the loud knocking upon his study door. He commanded whoever it was to enter in Elvish, and one of his head guards normally stationed at the front gates came marching in, looking quite shaken.

"Hîr vuin," greeted the Silvan guard, respectfully bowing his head as Thranduil turned to him, waiting on an explanation for the intrusion, "I've come to report that Firverior and the others have returned."

"And?" Thranduil demanded, waiting patiently.

"They tracked that pack of Orcs as far as the outskirts of Éothéod, but they came upon something else; some_one_ Firverior thought should be brought to your attention at once."

Thranduil quietly stepped closer, his movements slow and steady, arms woven behind his back. "What did he find, Berialagoswen?"

The guard named Berialagoswen's eyes lowered a fraction as he replied, "Tauriel, my Lord."

The king's blue irises flickered and the muscles in his face tightened, as if he were coiling in on himself to keep his self-control in check. His calm demeanour bordered on morphing into action, seemingly torn between maintaining coolness or allowing the rankling ire over the sour subject of his one-time captain to manifest and take charge.

Ultimately, he settled for coolness.

Berialagoswen remained perfectly still, silently awaiting his king's order. Thranduil had ceased inching towards him, his ruby red robes casting a dangerous shimmer against the pearls of starlight pouring into his study.

"Bring her to me," he commanded after a tense-filled silence. "Now."

* * *

By the time they reached the front gates of Mirkwood, Tauriel was no longer fazed by the ill reception she was bestowed upon by the two Elves standing guard, Berialagoswen and Lainos, though their shock at encountering her puzzled her greatly.

_Odd_, she wondered as she breezed past Lainos, who eyed her as though she had lost all Elven attributes. _If the king gave the order to hunt me down, wouldn't everyone have been informed of it?_

"Wait here," Berialagoswen commanded to the lot of them and hastily disappeared to inform King Thranduil of her arrival.

Tauriel sighed, irritated at being so in the dark, but took the quiet opportunity afforded to her to look upon the entrance to the intimate refuge she had once called home.

The ancient oaks were healthy-looking and resplendent still, their vibrant foliage marking the beginning of autumn and flecked with blazing blood-reds and fiery golds unlike any one could find elsewhere in Middle-earth. The well-remembered sight squeezed Tauriel's heart in two.

How deeply she had missed the Mirkwood forest, despite so many foreign glimpses to the outside world provided to her since abruptly leaving home over a year ago. Returning after such an extended absence should have been welcoming and warm, but breathing in the crisp, autumn air tonight filled Tauriel's soul with the deep-rooted yearning she had, for too long, struggled to repress: homesickness. Banishment had bridled her hopes of ever returning, particularly under happy circumstances, and such was the dispirited case this evening.

"Why Éothéod?"

The unanticipated disruption to her thoughts startled Tauriel. She turned to Firverior, who had posed the question. He stood at a distance, along with his comrades, all of whom ogled their former captain with peculiarity.

"I'm sorry?" she breathed, the beat of her heart accelerating.

"Why so close?" he pressed her quietly. "Aren't there other realms you might have found less...painful to take shelter?"

Tauriel forced an impassive raise of her chin. "Yes," she answered him simply, careful to keep any emotion out of her response, "but the reminders would still be...inescapable."

Firverior cocked his head sideways, not following. "'Inescapable'?" he repeated, seeking clarity.

Tauriel offered only a contrived smile. "Grief will follow no matter where one seeks to hide from her."

Slowly, Firverior nodded, understanding finally crossing his fair face. "And Mirkwood?" he inquired after a short pause, to which Tauriel stretched her mannered smile farther.

"It's still home to me, even if I can no longer refer to it as such by name."

"King Thranduil will see you now."

Berialagoswen's sudden return to the entrance brought Tauriel's and Firverior's hushed conversation to a close. Firverior stepped back and lowered his head, giving the matter over to his brethren.

The head guard gave a curt toss of his head and Tauriel was abruptly sided by two guards once more, one of whom pushed her rather forcefully to follow Berialagoswen's lead. Her eyes caught Firverior's as she was coerced onward to meet with the king, but, unfortunately, she discerned neither comfort nor reassurance from her friend's return stare, which was grim at best. She swallowed hard and tread the narrow, winding pathway that led to King Thranduil's study, refusing to look back. The enormous, hefty oak doors opened as they approached, with two more guards flanking its entrance.

As she stepped inside the towering space, Tauriel found herself suddenly face to face with her king, who was seated in a wooden chair off to the right. The moonlight trickling into the study cast fragments of sharp light against his otherwise tall, darkened figure, the scenery at his back a dramatic view of the wondrous night sky, just visible between Mirkwood's high trees. Upon his head Thranduil donned his ornately decorative crown of thorns and berries in annual homage to the harvest season; but, there was nothing warm in his hardened face that Tauriel recognised. His stare was cold and unfriendly, his rigid body language, despite being seated, serving his reputation as the intimidating Elven ruler Tauriel well remembered.

In all her six hundred years of life and service, Tauriel had rarely been afraid of her king, only uneasy at times that Thranduil invoked his wrath, speaking in such an eerily quiet fashion that even his son would grow nervous and uncertain of his intentions. For the first time on this chilly evening, however, she _was_ truly frightened. Her inclination immediately was to bow, despite the fact that she no longer served him, so she hurriedly lowered her head, shifting her eyes from such intense eye contact.

For an excruciating moment that seemed to last for an age, Thranduil said nothing in return, merely made a calculated study of her person with his eyes. Tauriel could hear her breath stiffen and the hastening beat of her heart against her chest; she tried to keep still.

"Hîr vuin," she addressed him softly, respectfully, with a certain ache in her voice.

"Tauriel," Thranduil, at last, greeted her, though without any hint of affection. "What a surprise this is."

Cautiously, Tauriel raised her head, increasingly perplexed by the strange events that had brought her here. "Is it?" she inquired hesitantly, narrowing her eyes up at him. "Did you not send your guards after me tonight?"

"After you?" Thranduil's response was indifferent. "Of course not. Don't be absurd. I banished you from this realm many moons ago. Why would I seek to hunt you down now?"

"I don't know. You tell me, my Lord," she added, wishing to get to the bottom of this confusion but without spurring Thranduil to anger.

Alas, an ominous upward curl materialised at the corner of Thranduil's mouth that didn't put Tauriel at ease. His eyes then darted to Berialagoswen and the two guards still holding her firmly by the arms.

"Leave us," he demanded of their company, and Tauriel heard their footsteps retreat, the heavy doors soon closing her in with an overwhelming-sounding echo. Her heart pounded faster still, her agitation increasing now that she and Thranduil were completely alone.

Thranduil wasted little time continuing to study her at a distance. He rose agilely from his chair and approached the disloyal Elleth as a fierce lion stalks its prey: deliberately, wilfully, eyes rooted to the catch.

Tauriel was quickly engulfed in the king's shadow, unhinged by the near empty void she discovered in those radiant blue eyes. It caused her to shrink in his presence, though only just.

"Do you have a death wish, Tauriel?"

Tauriel reared back, perturbed by such an odd question. "My Lord?"

"A pack of Orcs were spotted to the north not four days past. They weren't far from where you reportedly made camp. Dare I ask, were you waiting for them to happen upon your tent and take you out?"

"I..."

"_Do speak up_," Thranduil hissed with such aggression that Tauriel started. "As I recall, you had no trouble speaking your mind to me in the past."

Tauriel blushed but managed to find her voice. "No, I wasn't waiting to be found, my Lord."

"_Really_?"

His voice dripped with mockery, making Tauriel fluster. "I don't know why you'd insinuate that I'd do such a thing, my Lord, but, I can assure you—"

"That you've become so consumed by your own grief that you would willingly put your life at stake, just to be rid of it?" Thranduil sought to challenge her, staring Tauriel down heatedly, though he never raised his voice. "Yes, I _would_ insinuate such a disappointing action possible on your part, Tauriel. Am I wrong to believe that you still grieve the loss of that...Dwarf?"

Tauriel could feel her cheeks burning with indignation, a mixture of rage and humiliation now marring her pretty features. The way her king spoke so distastefully of Kíli, without referring to him by name or with a shred of thoughtful consideration, gutted her. She hadn't an inkling where such a fiery, false accusation of attempted self-destruction was coming from, either—perhaps she had become the subject of ridicule by Thranduil and her people in her absence—but she was determined to set the king straight, if he would allow her.

"My Lord," she insisted, struggling to keep calm, "I've had no intention of hurting myself these past many months."

The harshness in Thranduil's face did not waver, however. "I'm not convinced," came his terse reply.

"I honestly had no idea Orcs were that close—"

"_Then, for goodness's sake, Tauriel, be sensible_!" His uncharacteristic outburst took her aback, enough to cause her knees to wobble. "I took you to be perceptive and wise once. Do not force me to lament yet another wrong."

The intensity between them abruptly stilled and Thranduil quickly turned away from her, his refined robes thrashing and waving about with furious flair. He sought refuge in his chair again, half of his pale face submerging into the shadows.

Tauriel looked on, unsettled, yet unable to glance away. "I... I do apologise, my Lord," she found herself softly begging his pardon. "I hadn't given much thought to running into Orcs in those parts. I will be more mindful in the future."

Thranduil did not respond. He simply stared at Tauriel long and hard, unmoving, compelling her to try to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"I still don't understand _why_ I've been brought here."

Slowly, Thranduil answered, "I never gave the order to retrieve you." At Tauriel's visual befuddlement, he continued, "I sent Firverior and a handful of our guards out to hunt down the whereabouts of these Orcs. He happened upon your camp and was right to take you under his charge and bring you here for safekeeping. You could have been killed out there, Tauriel. Have you lost all sense of reason?"

The gnawing vexation in the Elven king had returned, but Tauriel took a deep breath and centred her emotions. "I told you, I didn't know—"

"A lazy excuse for incompetence."

Before Tauriel could fire back a retort, Thranduil was on his feet once more, the cutting lights and shadows outlining his face urging her back a step. He hadn't advanced on her, and yet, his slightly hunched forward stance suggested that he might very well do so.

"You shall remain here."

"What?" Tauriel's green eyes widened in shock. "But, I—"

"At least until these Orcs have been hunted down and dealt with. You cannot be trusted to linger on your own."

"But, my Lord, I've been banished from these woods. You said so yourself..."

Tauriel hated how simpleminded her remark sounded, and yet, it _was_ the plain truth. Why would King Thranduil suddenly show a change of heart and express his concern—albeit, marginally—for her welfare when she was, to him, a traitor to the realm? It hadn't been all that long ago that she had pointed an arrow at his face and threatened to kill him, after all.

_Now he wants me to...stay?_

Much to Tauriel's bafflement, Thranduil called in Elvish to the guards outside the door to return, waiting on them to reemerge before he stalked up to her, his bright eyes boring vigorously into hers. Tauriel's breath stilled, her wary gaze locked on his.

"Consider your exile lifted," he told her; he then brushed past Tauriel to order the guards to escort her to a bedchamber, but she wasn't really taking in anything but the king's shocking pardon. He turned around to face her bewildered countenance one last time, and, when their eyes met, he added a smug, "For now," to his withdrawal before he took his leave.

Tauriel watched in stunned silence as Thranduil glided away, his flowing, golden hair barely moving against his back and his silhouette made more impressive by the outline of his extravagant crown. Even from behind, he appeared as ominous as ever, and yet...

_I'm no longer banished?_

The two guards didn't try to manhandle Tauriel this time as they led their one-time captain away without a word. Even had they displayed less tact, Tauriel wouldn't have been able to focus much on their mistreatment, though, for she was too dumbfounded to find herself back in Mirkwood, her banishment unexpectedly revoked, and two of her kin leading her to a bedroom where she would surely receive a large, warm bed to crawl into.

_Perhaps this isn't the end, after all..._

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

_**Hîr vuin = Beloved lord**_

* * *

**A/N #2: This won't be a quick and convenient lovey, dovey coming together of our two stubborn Elves. There's a _lot_ for them to see eye to eye on first before any romance can occur.**_  
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**Please review, if you would! I'd love to hear from you!  
**


	3. Amin uuma merna ta (I don't want it)

**A/N: Thank you, again, so much for the reviews left on the last chapter! I really appreciate hearing what ya'll think as we get things underway. This is just the beginning, and I have a _lot_ more planned. :) **

**I'm also much more focused on writing this story than anything else at the moment, and a _lot_ of that is because of the warm welcome I've received from so many of you. :)****  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Amin uuma merna ta (I don't want it)**

* * *

_"If this is love I do not want it. Take it from me... Please..."_

_Those words had been so haunting, so exquisitely painful, even now._

_The harrowing sadness of which her eyes spoke was enough to bring the Elven king to his knees. He stepped forward, barely able to contain his own sorrow. How he longed to reach out and tell her then that he understood her loss; that he was well-abreast of such pain and suffering; that he had mastered woe and anguish long, long ago; that the enormity of it would pass, but it wouldn't be gone entirely._

_'No, it's still too raw for her... As it is for me...'_

_So many of his great warriors had been lost today. Legolas, too, had abandoned him, probably never to return. His son had survived, only to leave. The disgruntlement on the prince's face as he turned from Thranduil that day was enough to destroy him. _

_Now, the distressful tears Tauriel shed visibly conveyed all that stirred within Thranduil's wounded heart. They echoed his immense heartache and grief; a wretched pain he couldn't disclose or share with others. Not with Tauriel._

_'Not with anyone...'_

_"Why does it hurt so much?" she suddenly choked out, bowing her head low over the Dwarf's lifeless form, tears falling freely._

_In that delicate moment, Thranduil thought of one small grain of truth he hoped might comfort Tauriel in her moment of intense mourning, though it had done little to comfort him: "Because it was real."_

_Tauriel raised her head to stare into the king's eyes. Something akin to, perhaps, hope was surfacing and fighting the sorrow, but Thranduil couldn't remain. He needed to get as far away from her—from everyone—as possible for a brief, quiet moment alone. The emotions churning inside him were threatening to overpower him at any moment, and, thus, Thranduil hurried away from the depressing scene, turning his back on a kneeling, heartbroken Tauriel, who watched her king's silent retreat, his waltz dreary and withdrawn. _

_Slowly, her eyes drew back to Kíli—so peaceful in death—and she wept all over again, unable to let go of his motionless hand._

Had he been wrong to say what he had that day? Had she thought him cruel and uncaring when, in fact, he had been trying to offer her comfort?

_Does any of it matter?_

Thranduil rested his arms against the stone barrier of his balcony, letting the brisk wind whip at his garments and cool his skin, prompting a shiver down his spine that rippled about him like a snake shedding its skin. He inhaled deeply and stared out into the plentiful woodlands that lay beyond his quarters, and at the glimpses of starlight he could discern through the dense trees and impenetrable stone barriers.

The sudden urge to walk and wander was desirable, but Thranduil forced himself to turn away from the light and return to the shadows of his room. Too many nights he had wasted roaming his underground kingdom, awake for hours and exhausting the night with his troublesome thoughts. He needed sleep.

He needed to forget.

* * *

Tauriel's eyelids fluttered awake to greet the faint sunlight penetrating the open window a few feet from her bed, its delicate rays floating into the room and streaming across her sheets. Eventually, she rolled onto her back and raised herself up onto her elbows, squinting at her unrecognisable surroundings.

Last night had been the most restful sleep she had received in what felt like a millennium. It wasn't peaceful, but it _was_ still and undisturbed for a change. It had been too long since she hadn't awoken in the middle of the night (at least once or twice), recalling either Kíli's horrific death, the sickening eyesores of battle before the foot of the Lonely Mountain, where her kin, Dwarves, Men, Women and Children alike fell in massive numbers, or Legolas's mysterious leave without so much as a parting farewell.

_Yes. That rest was much needed_, she concluded, taking an appreciative moment to stretch and allow the fragments of sunlight to pour over her wherever their rays touched. She closed her eyes and inhaled several slow, even breaths before finally facing the morning—or whatever time of day it was—by climbing out of bed.

Tauriel was almost immediately driven from her private thoughts by the surprising sight of fresh garments hanging loosely over a wooden chair close to her bed. Apparently, they had been delivered sometime during the night—or in the early morning—whilst she had slept. She reached out a hand to hesitantly inspect the material: robes of soft green and silver, threaded from the finest silk, and with an underlining pale green blouse and plush shoes that ran to the knees.

Tauriel stroked her fingers over the magnificently smooth fabric, eyes blinking rapidly at the added discovery of an accompanying note. On the front, it spelled only her name in black ink. She took the note into her possession and opened it, murmuring its message aloud:

"'_Please accept these robes as a token of the king's redeemed confidence._'"

Tauriel frowned and reread the note a couple more times. A gift from the king? A memento intended to eradicate the hard-hitting fact that he had previously banished her?

_I hardly think clothing can erase the rift between us_, Tauriel scoffed dismissively as she tossed the message aside. _'Redeemed confidence'. As if I require _his_ confidence! And what a rotten method of apologising!_

With reluctance, she peered down at the note again, scrutinising it from where it now lay half-crumbled at her feet. _Is it meant to be an apology at all?_

Tauriel quickly shook her head, wishing to keep the niggling unrest in her mind at bay. Regardless of whatever convoluted action lay behind King Thranduil's message, it _was _a genteel gesture, after all; she would readily give him that. After living in such dishonourable conditions—well, deplorable for a Silvan Elf, anyway—she was rather easily swayed into ridding herself of the only somewhat smelly, stained garments she possessed.

Having been too exhausted the previous night to bathe before bed, Tauriel retreated to the room's adjoining bathroom in haste, wishing to cleanse herself before making an appearance. Her bright eyes widened at the grand scope of the space she walked in on, for it was larger and far more extravagant than her own had ever been.

Mirkwood's main river flowed through these showers, streaming without pause from the high waterfall that resided just beyond the front gates. Within its underground enclosures, however, and with the aid of Elvish magic, bath waters remained permanently warm, never frigid or so much as lukewarm.

_Finally! A proper bath!_

Tauriel eagerly disrobed what she had been too tired to slip out of the night before (mainly her loose breeches and blouse which were normally covered by her heavier set of robes), and stepped into the hot bath. Her toes instantly curled with delight at the smooth, pebbled stones imbedded in the ground beneath her feet, her fond memories recalling how much she used to enjoy extended, evening baths...

_Before I was banished._

Determined not to sour the moment with thoughts of the past, and issuing a gratifying sigh, Tauriel settled herself in the enlarged bath and sunk her head back against its stone enclosure, eyes closing. It was probably the most divine bath she had ever taken. How on earth did Men and Women bathe in such terribly cold conditions as she had been forced to for the past year? No. She wouldn't think on it. The healing powers of the river waters were working their awe and brilliance, refreshing and renewing her physically and spiritually in ways the species of Men—and Dwarves—could never comprehend.

_Wonderful..._

Tauriel lingered in the hot water for so long that it wasn't until an unexpected visitor came knocking at her door around noon that she finally emerged from her watery cave. It was Firverior, who had come to check on Tauriel and ensure that she was all right and settling in. She scrambled to make herself presentable before permitting him into her chambers, freshly dressed in the ensemble King Thranduil had given her.

"You're looking revived," her friend noted with raised eyebrows, an encouraging smile materialising on his lips.

"I _am_ feeling rather more myself this morning. Please, sit! It's been so long!"

"Indeed it has," Firverior concurred pleasantly enough; he took a seat in the wooden chair as gestured by Tauriel, whilst she perched herself on the edge of her made bed. "You've been on my mind, Tauriel. I'm so relieved to see you're safe and unharmed."

"Thanks to _you_," she pointed out, taking the opportunity to squeeze the Elf's hand in gratitude. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I appreciate you bringing me back here, Firverior."

Firverior's brow furrowed questioningly. "Really?" he put to her, sounding both relieved and taken aback.

Tauriel slightly lowered her head, her voice turning grim. "One forgets the simple luxuries of sleeping in a firm bed at night or having warm baths to take when they're reduced to...well, what my conditions have been these past many months."

"I wonder..." Firverior started and paused, peering at his former captain with sudden apprehension. "Have you _really_ wanted to come back all this time?"

"I confess, for a while, I wasn't sure I wanted to; but, I realised shortly after I left that not having a home... Not being amongst my kin... Not being _wanted_... It was all more trying on my soul than I expected it to be."

"I'm sure it was," her friend agreed, quietly surveying her for a thoughtful pause. "Is it true that you...fell in love?"

Tauriel's eyes sharpened as they met his, though they softened as she sought to compose herself before answering, "Yes, I did."

"With a...Dwarf?"

Disgruntled by the overt judgement she detected in Firverior's disbelieving inquiry, Tauriel remained still, emerald eyes cooling the longer they bore into her friend's. "His name was Kíli, and, _yes_, he was a Dwarf. A very brave one, I might add."

Firverior quickly bowed his head to momentarily avoid eye contact, his cheeks radiating more colour than usual. "I'm sure he was," he tried to offer considerately, once he was certain Tauriel wasn't going to reach across the gap between them and smack him upside the head. "My condolences for your loss and grief, Tauriel."

"Thank you," she managed rather breathlessly, trying not to tear up on the spot; she was grateful when Firverior changed the topic.

"Will you stay now that your banishment has been lifted?"

Tauriel shrugged. "I'm not certain. I can hardly expect the king will _want_ me to stay."

Firverior shot the proud Elleth a confused frown. "But, if he revoked your banishment, then surely he _will _wish that?"

"He said my banishment was lifted for the time being."

"'For the time being'?"

"Until the Orcs are found, at least. Beyond that, he wouldn't say."

"Well, we could really use you at the head again, Tauriel," Firverior pressed in all seriousness. "More spiders are fortifying their nests outside our walls. I fear we may be overrun soon without outside aid."

"Can't the king simply send out more of you at a time to combat them?"

"Since the end of the battle at the Lonely Mountain, King Thranduil has ordered the majority of us to remain within these walls at all times. No one's to venture into the forest alone anymore, and we're prohibited from ever leaving at night."

"It's grown _that_ bad?" Tauriel asked, eyes widening in concern.

Firverior returned her question with an earnest nod. "We slaughtered more than two-dozen while en route to Éothéod. If you decide to stay, I dare say you'll see for yourself how badly the forest has been overrun by those foul beasts."

Tauriel straightened and shook her head, dismayed. "Should I remain, I doubt the king would reinstate me as Captain of the Guard, Firverior."

"Why not?" her friend challenged, to which Tauriel scrutinised him at length before replying.

"Because I disobeyed his order that I return to Mirkwood, Firverior, and then I challenged him on the battlefield before our own legions; our people."

Firverior's brief recoil spoke as much of his awareness on _that_ supposedly controversial subject. It was difficult to discern whether he approved or disapproved of her actions, however, until he spoke in a softer tone.

"That was unwise of you, Tauriel."

"I was no longer his captain," Tauriel retorted defensively. "I was free to make my own choices then, and I wasn't about to allow him to flee and abandon all those who were in so desperate need of our help! Not if I could prevent him from doing so!"

"So you thought that by defying the king—a great Elf thousands of years older than you, and far more skilled and trained in the practice of combat—and by pointing an arrow at his person, that _that_ would stop him in his tracks?"

Tauriel flushed, initially unable to form a coherent thought. "Well, I...! Well, when you put it like _that_..." she finally grumbled irritably, prompting Firverior to chance a smirk.

"You're daring, Tauriel; of_ that_ I'm certain."

This time, Tauriel's blush was far less indignant. "Daring enough to defy the king when he's very much in the wrong?"

Firverior's humoured smile slipped. "Tauriel..."

"If King Thranduil refuses to change from this unhealthy path of locking himself—and us—away, thinking that _that_ will somehow keep us from experiencing the rest of the world's ruin, we'll be as doomed as the poor, innocent souls living beyond our borders. When the world succumbs to darkness, so shall we."

"We don't know that—"

"Yes, you _do_, Firverior," Tauriel urged her friend, speaking now with fervour. "Surely, you _must_."

After resettling himself in his chair, Firverior reluctantly cleared his throat and eyed Tauriel more critically. "King Thranduil has never led us astray. I wish you'd exercise more faith in him, Tauriel."

"This isn't about lack of faith, Firverior; it's about lack of _reason_!"

"You best watch that sharp tongue of yours in his presence, do you hear me?"

"Or what," Tauriel huffed and scooted forward, "I'll be banished from the realm a second time?" Firverior's face deflated, leaving Tauriel thinking she held the upper hand. "You forget, mellon nîn, I've been down the path of exile before, and I wouldn't hesitate to walk it again if it meant being able to speak my truth."

"Tauriel, _please_, I implore you, don't incur the king's wrath. Not again."

Tauriel's eyes narrowed considerably, however. "If I'm the only one willing to challenge his decisions which affect us _all _then I must be permitted to do what my conscience deems to be right."

Firverior issued a defeated sigh and rose to his feet, peering down at the fiery Elleth still seated on her bed with growing despondence. "Then, at the very least, exercise caution, won't you?" he pleaded quietly. "The king is not himself."

Tauriel reared back, startled by those words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's not been himself. Not since..."

"Yes?"

Firverior's expression tightened. "Since his son left."

* * *

"_Ada, c__an we name her?"_

"_Of course, ionneg," replied Thranduil affectionately, a gentle smile tugging at his lips; he reached out to lightly rub his hand over the elk's large snout and the magnificent beast gave a throaty appreciation. "What would you like to call her?"_

_A young Legolas, crouched atop the broad elk's back, pondered this decision for some time, his dainty features scrunched together in concentration. At last, his blue eyes lit up with a possibility._

"_Melda!" he exclaimed._

_Thranduil eyed the enthusiastic prince curiously, considerately. "And why Melda?"_

"_Because we love her, Ada! And she's strong!" _

_Legolas draped himself effortlessly across the elk's spine and proceeded to stroke its side. Its head tilted towards the weightless young Elf, its enormous antlers swaying beneath the tall trees and catching warm rays of light. _*****_  
_

"_Indeed," Thranduil conceded as he thoughtfully appraised the new familiar, "she _is _strong." He bowed his head of golden hair respectfully. "Melda it is. She shall be our new deliverer; our new companion when treading these woods."_

"_She's so gentle, Ada, and less grumpy than Tawarthion."_

"_Yes, she is, isn't she?" Thranduil watched his son, amused as the prince appeared to be falling asleep, for his eyes had closed and his petting slowed. "And she'll continue to be as long as we treat her well, yes?"_

"_Yes, Ada."_

"_And why must we treat all creatures of the Woodland realm with respect?"_

"_Because they're family," Legolas replied through a stifled yawn, sounding as though he had been asked to repeat such an answer many times before. "Because the forest and everything in it is a part of our family."_

"_That's right, lonneg."_

_Legolas's breathing deepened, his arm falling loose at his side. Thranduil reached out to carefully grasp the Elf's little hand in his, and Legolas didn't stir. _

_Thranduil stared the elk sternly in the eyes. There appeared to be an unwritten understanding between creature and Elf; some unspoken language that allowed the two to communicate._

"_Lead us home, Melda," he instructed in Elvish, and the elk gave a soft, low moan. _

_Melda began the march back to the gates of Mirkwood, little Legolas sleeping aboard her whilst the king strolled along on foot, the company of three moving together in perfect harmony._

A sudden flutter of movement coming from the corner of his eye brought Thranduil's attention back into focus. He casually turned his head, aware that, despite appearances, he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

"I know you're there," he whispered without fear or concern, fierce blue eyes waiting patiently for something—some_one_—to materialise. "Why do you insist on hiding from me?"

A short pause later, "Forgive me, my Lord, I... I didn't wish to disturb you."

A sheepish Tauriel emerged from behind a stone pillar, looking both apologetic and more radiant than she had appeared yesterday upon her arrival. She had clearly bathed and was well-rested, at least. The soft-palette robes he had had sent to her room were fitting and attractive against her flowing, intricately braided red hair, and there was a healthy glow to her complexion that had been virtually non-existent when he had last seen her.

Tauriel's gaze shifted uncomfortably, however, at having come into contact with the Elven king in the midst of a quiet mediation, and she seemed uncertain as to where to rest her eyes.

Thranduil stared at his former captain a long moment, his composed expression untelling. Then he resumed his attention elsewhere, staring, instead, straight ahead at a gleaming sort of monument with apparent Elvish names etched elegantly into the carved rock. He had been taking in its pleasant recollections for some time now, until his memories were sorely interrupted.

_By her._

"I shall go, my Lord," Tauriel suddenly piped up, her voice nearly too soft to be heard.

Thranduil directed his gaze towards the retreating Elleth again, and his response was commanding when he uttered, "What's your hurry?"

Tauriel halted in her tracks and hesitantly turned around, that same confusion from yesterday marking her brow. "I was merely strolling the grounds, my Lord. I didn't expect to run into you here..."

Thranduil's bright eyes hardened. "And that was cause for you to run from my presence?"

"No," stuttered Tauriel, finding herself flustered by what felt like an interrogation, "you just looked...preoccupied. I didn't wish to disturb you."

"That's because I _was_ preoccupied."

"Well, then, please, by all means, don't let me cause you trouble," came Tauriel's agitated reply; she stepped back several paces. "I'll just be on my way."

She quickly made to leave, not desiring to cause a fuss, but the king's next words stopped her in her tracks again. "Is it always that way with you these days?"

Tauriel whipped her head around, affronted by the question, though she didn't understand what exactly King Thranduil's disgruntlement was with her being here. Having unintentionally intruded on his privacy, she had tried to respectfully bow out, but it would seem the king wanted to goad her into an argument; or, perhaps, simply make her uneasy.

Unfortunately, he wasn't looking at her, either. Instead, Thranduil was studying the elk monument before his eyes in detail, his strong profile reflective and uncommunicative. The commemorative shrine had long ago been erected in memory of the royal family's many familiars that had passed away over the Ages, its broad carving extending well beyond the king's seated position on a stone bench.

After what felt like an eternity, Thranduil finally turned his head, and his and Tauriel's eyes met once more, their exchange intense, and yet, to Tauriel, unclear.

"Fight and flight response, is it?" he pressed; it wasn't asked with malicious intent, but there evidently wasn't any hint of kindness, either.

"I... I don't like to think so," Tauriel tried to respond tactfully, "no, my Lord."

Thranduil pursed her lips together, the silence that ensued bordering on uncomfortable, with Tauriel uncertain as to whether or not she should try to make another exit. Thus, she waited to be addressed, hands fidgeting awkwardly behind her back.

Finally, Thranduil rose and advanced towards on her, his progression graceful, yet calculated. His expression, too, was considerate this time and less critical, though Tauriel still had the strong urge to make an escape.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired once they were finally standing before one another.

"Yes, I did, my Lord." She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."

"And have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have."

Thranduil nodded, eyes thoughtfully appraising her, though she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Do you require anything else at the moment? Anything you'd like brought to your room?"

Although taken aback by this unassuming gesture of hospitality by her king, Tauriel respectfully shook her head. "No, my Lord, but thank you." Her cheeks reddened a little as she peered down at her aesthetically-pleasing ensemble; her new robes was proving not only immensely comfortable but were of a richer and finer thread than she was accustomed to wearing. "And for the robes," she added in appreciation, feeling uneasy. "They're...quite beautiful."

"Do they please you?"

Tauriel angled her head. "Yes, my Lord; very much."

"Then you're welcome," he offered without feeling.

Thranduil gradually backed away from her, his sharp gaze rooting an ill-footed Tauriel to the spot, even as he fluidly turned his back.

Utterly bewildered by the strangeness of their brief interaction, Tauriel started to step forward with the intent to say something else, but the Elven king spoke faster. "I expect we shall meet again soon."

Tauriel's eyebrows came together in perplexity. _Of course_ they would come in contact again. The king had revoked her banishment, after all, and he wasn't prone to locking himself away from his people, so, surely, their paths _would_ cross again, and often. What was his underlying motive for this circle and dance number he was playing with her?

"Yes, my Lord," was all Tauriel found she could say in return without being snide.

With his back still turned and his silver robes billowing further and further away from her, Thranduil extended only one additional remark before he disappeared entirely. "I have questions for you that will need answering."

_Questions?_ Tauriel wondered peculiarly. _To_ _do with my disloyal actions on the battlefield, perhaps?_

Tauriel remained imprudently frozen in the middle of the narrow walkway long after King Thranduil had gone. The illumination stemming from the many lanterns that hung from the stone pillars intended to resemble wood had lowered upon the king's exit, making her surroundings more of a challenge to see.

Slowly, Tauriel forced her legs to move. She inched closer to the elk memorial to her right and eyed it over with thought and care. She could understand why King Thranduil might seek solace at such an isolated spot. It was well-known that he adored the many elks that had come into his service over the Ages; perhaps he had simply sought refuge here to reminisce over their individual passings.

Tauriel could recall the unique names and appearances of the varying beasts her king and Legolas, too, had ridden throughout her time in Mirkwood. As her eyes scanned the Elvish names attractively carved into the pale stone, she let out a faint moan at a new name etched near the bottom of the shrine. She tentatively crouched down and reached out a hand to trace over the precious name of Ithilwen, her chest constricting as her senses were suddenly flooded with what she could only presume might match the king's own heartbreak.

_Oh, Ithilwen..._

King Thranduil had ridden Ithilwen to the Lonely Mountain, the elk prepared to lay down its life for the king in the fight against the Dwarves and, later, the Orcs. She must have fallen sometime during the battle, though Tauriel hadn't witnessed the poor elk's demise. She could only pray it might have occurred _after_ she confronted him.

_Why? Why should you feel remorse, Tauriel? He was wrong. You know it still._

_Yes, I do..._

_So, why the sudden pang of guilt?_

Tauriel stiffened, her fingers halting upon the outline of the fallen elk's name. Eventually, she drew upright and turned her back on the majestic monument, aiming to make her way back towards the general direction of her bedchambers. She suspected she wouldn't run into King Thranduil on the way.

_This isn't about guilt_, her conscience argued; she felt more like herself again the closer she came to what had been the start of her aimless walk that afternoon. _This is about what's right and wrong. The loss of Ithilwen... The loss of Legolas... No. Be that as it may, the king has wrongs that need righting!_

_Or have you so quickly forgotten King Thranduil's cold heart? _

Tauriel raised her chin defiantly as the guard stationed outside her bedroom nodded to her with respect, greeting her return. She stepped inside and gestured for him to close the door behind her without a word.

_The king wants to question me? Well, I have a few questions to pose to _him _as well._

* * *

*** Although female elks don't have antlers, considering Peter Jackson's depiction of them in _The Hobbit_ isn't realistic, I'm not going for realism, either.**

**A/N #2: I smell trouble...**


	4. Lle rangwa amin? (Do you understand me?)

**A/N: I know I've been consistent with these updates so far, but, erm, please don't come to expect updates to be this timely every week, OK? I _do_ have other stories I'm working on, too (and desperately need to update! _I know, I know!_).  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Lle rangwa amin? (Do you understand me?)  
**

* * *

Tauriel's first few days back home proved restless and uneventful. The spirited Elleth found herself increasingly questioning whether she should stick around or be on her not-so-merry way. (Not that she desired to return to the former misery that had been relentless isolation, but, if there was one thing Tauriel couldn't bear, it was being made to feel utterly useless.) She craved to be of service to her fellow kin in _some_ capacity again—at least, to the guards, many of whom had been her dear friends once, though they now mostly went about ignoring her existence.

_Except for Firverior..._

She was grateful to have still found one friend in him amongst her kind. Even if she would never again be permitted to become their captain, and she certainly wasn't holding out much hope of that happening, Tauriel would have liked to serve the kingdom that was still her home.

Every glimpse of her friends' comings and goings from the front gates twisted the dagger a little deeper in her heart. Tauriel suspected those who left at daybreak would be searching the forests until nightfall, attempting to kill as many spiders as possible, those gruesome creatures who had long ago began poisoning and sickening so much of their precious woodlands that the outskirts of Mirkwood was an unrecognisable wilderness today.

The pervasive invasion of the spiders was all the more imperative to Tauriel to make herself useful by, perhaps, helping to put a stop to the very beasts who regularly assaulted their lands. She wrestled with the idea for days, growing evermore agitated by the hour. Whilst she twiddled her thumbs and sought to occupy her time, her kin were out there fighting for the continuation of their very existence.

_You could always run this proposal by the king, you know..._

Tauriel rolled her eyes each time that unnerving thought entered her mind.

For the time being, she would simply resume her mindless stroll of the kingdom, unsure of where she belonged or how she might fit in. She wasn't even sure where she found herself wandering off to most of the time, but that hardly concerned her. Her dull days had been much the same since her arrival: aimless strolls through long, torch-lit corridors and winding staircases, their point unfulfilling and leaving the quiet yearn in her heart to fester and deepen.

With a frustrated huff, Tauriel tore off in the opposite direction from whence she had come. This wasn't healthy _or_ productive. Having too much time on her hands to think, to reflect...

_To remember Kíli..._

Well, it wasn't beneficial.

Tauriel's determined march slowed to a walk. For days, she had managed to keep the grief from swallowing her whole. In fact, her reeling thoughts of late had been drawn elsewhere—to someone _else_ instead—and, so, Tauriel had welcomed the change. After all, pondering and dissecting King Thranduil's behaviour seemed a more constructive alternative to staying in bed and sobbing repeatedly into her pillow.

It was comforting, in fact, just to have something else to focus her attention on, so Tauriel pursued the sensitive subject of her king readily. She hadn't happened upon him again since their strange encounter before the elks' monument some five days prior, and, having expected to be called upon at some point since, Tauriel was quite surprised that no invitation from the king had come her way.

What was he waiting for? Was King Thranduil expecting Tauriel to simply go about the rest of her days in Mirkwood playing the part of the invaluable, invisible demoted captain? To have her person be forever marked amongst their people as a traitor to the realm?

_I should hope not_, Tauriel considered apprehensively, a slight frown materialising on her face.

Tauriel had been in Mirkwood for nearly a week with no invitation from the king and no orders given for how to spend her time. Sure, that span didn't constitute for as much as a blink in the daily life of an Elf, but, unlike most patient, even-tempered Elves, Tauriel was losing her patience, and quickly, too. She hadn't expected her circumstances to change overnight, of course, but she_ had_ expected to have had an audience with her king by now, at the very least. Too many long hours spent processing her grief and worthlessness wasn't exactly more gratifying than the year of banishment she had been forced into.

Tauriel's pace increased again, the fire in her step pushing her onward—against her sorrow, against her anguish._ Something_ has _to give, and soon!_

* * *

_Mid-day_, Thranduil thought, squinting his eyes as he peered out at his empty balcony. A gentle autumn breeze drifted through his bedchambers, fingering through his hair and lazily gracing his exposed neck. _Must. Get. Up._

Issuing a small, protesting groan, Thranduil lifted himself out of bed—pale and naked and uncharacteristically dishevelled—and stepped into his dressing room, eyelids half closed and protesting the soft light that greeted him.

If he wasn't the ruddy King of Mirkwood, he would have gladly returned to bed for the remainder of the afternoon; for the rest of the day, in fact. Perhaps he could spend that free time rereading the tale of the coming of the dragons of the north—_One of Legolas's favourites..._—or taken his time in answering the handful of correspondences that remained unopened and unread on top his dresser, collecting dust and debris.

_Or you could simply skip all that rubbish and drink your cares away..._

_That_ was always the most agreeable late-night option, but it would have to wait, unfortunately. There had been more than a dozen unwanted disruptions to Thranduil's solitude since the sun began to rise early that morning. If he didn't turn up amongst his people, and soon, he might very well see a few of his most trusted kinsmen breaking down his door, wrongfully believing something dreadful had become of their king.

_That wouldn't be so unwanted, would it? Certainly not by me._

Thranduil shook off that inconvenient thought long enough to dress himself appropriately, stepping into finely cut, forest green robes trimmed in ivory and silver. Upon his head he chose for the day a thin but intricate, matching silver crown.

Without passing a second glance over his reflection in a mirror, Thranduil reluctantly exited the sanctuary of his bedchambers to join those who were demanding his council. The same two guards from the night before were still stationed outside his room and, at once, were relieved of their duties to go rest. Thranduil had little doubt they had both been passing along his stern wish not to be disturbed to more individuals than he cared to estimate.

"The king is not seeing anyone at this time," he had heard them inform several of those who had pressed their requests for an audience.

"But, it's urgent!" many had insisted; thankfully, the king's guards didn't budge, and Thranduil was able to retreat further into his mound of comfortable pillows without a grumbling word.

Thranduil was now only a short distance from his quarters when a bombardment of Elves suddenly swarmed in upon him. Each had been awaiting the king's presence to relay their grievances and concerns for hours, and yet, Thranduil glided by them without giving pause for reaction, waving them forward with his hand in the air and beckoning the crowd to follow his lead.

_If only I could be left permanently alone_, he bemoaned his permanent circumstance in silence; he would remind himself, of course, as he always did, that hiding from his responsibilities was futile. _Whether you wish it or not, you're a king, Thranduil. For goodness's sake, act like one._

Whatever personal hardships came his way—and there had been many gut-wrenching blows Thranduil couldn't bring himself to speak on—life in Mirkwood went on in its usual quiet fashion, and the Elven king would endure whatever political, financial, or societal strife came about that called for his attention, in addition to his own difficulties, without a gripe or a complaint issued aloud. To anyone.

Thranduil's subsequent heavy sigh shuddered through his body like a smouldering fire. The series of soft footsteps trailing behind him, each individual undoubtedly wishing to speak before the other, made his want to merge with the stone beneath his feet and disappear an unrealistic conclusion.

Alas, he pressed on, leading the way to his council room where he would receive their dreadful opines one by one, his hard expression conveying his lack of enthusiasm for their company_ or_ to provide the listening ear his people desired of him.

Thranduil was met at the large oak doors by his long-time secretary, Lathron, an ancient Elf who had been by the king's side through many trials, as far back as the Second Age when he had first become king in his father's stead. In his hands, Lathron carried a quill and an empty scroll for taking notes on Thranduil's behalf. He didn't look at all displeased or even concerned by the king's tardiness, though his beady eyes might have suggested otherwise.

Together, Thranduil and his secretary stalked into the council room, Lathron informing the king's flock as to where they should sit. An enormous, rectangular-shaped table filled much of the space, with Thranduil taking the high chair at the far end. It was evident to all who were present that the king was rather displeased with this impromptu meeting of theirs, but his body language also suggested exceptional patience, like always.

After everyone was properly seated, Lathron joined the king at his side, and Thranduil, now cradling his chin in his palm, made a curt wave of his opposite hand, bringing the meeting to order.

"Hîr vuin," spoke a dark-haired, lanky Elf mid-way down the table, who raised a timid hand into the air, "if I may begin?"

"Please." Thranduil gestured to him with an added nod of approval.

The Elf rose to his feet, brown eyes sweeping the company of varying aged male and female Elves amongst him, before, lastly, allowing his gaze to rest on the king, who had his attention. "Word has reached us this morning of the Orcs's whereabouts. Those who had previously trespassed over our lands have been slaughtered as of last night. However, the urgent report from our head guard claims that the Orcs weren't alone and, supposedly, are travelling in numbers far greater than we had initially believed."

Thranduil's crystal blue eyes sharpened. "And have we made contact with any other groups?"

"Not as of yet, my Lord."

"Then send word to recall our troops. The less Elven blood spilt in tracking these worthless fiends, the better."

"Hîr vuin?" inserted a questioning, blonde-haired Elleth seated closer to Thranduil's left, her confused eyes speaking for the group as a whole.

"My instincts tell me that tracking these Orcs any further than Éothéod would be unwise. It would be the ghoulish mindset of those creatures to drive our companies farther and farther from home; from the realm itself. It would leave Mirkwood vulnerable and more susceptible to attacks."

"I have to agree with his Lordship," opined another softly-spoken Elf, who took the liberty of bowing his head towards the king in his high chair. "This chase and catch game of theirs could very well be setting us up for a trap."

"Thank you, Anessen," offered Thranduil in return, speaking with frankness and assertion. "Protecting our borders and our people is of the utmost priority. I see no reason to expound more energy, resources, and troops in pursuit of the Orcs, unless they step foot onto our territory again."

"Has there been any news from our friends in Rivendell or Lothlórien, my Lord?" asked the Elf named Anessen.

"I've received no further information from Lord Elrond since the last full moon to suggest that we're in any kind of mortal danger."

"But, what of Sauron?" questioned another Elleth, her voice hushed as she uttered the dark one's name.

Thranduil's expression remained aloof. "We have nothing to fear. Sauron may still very well be alive, but he's been considerably weakened by his defeat. He will rankle and slip away; I have little doubt of it."

The worried looks from those around the table didn't sway Thranduil's stance on the matter. Very few appeared as convinced by his words that Darkness wouldn't ascend a second time as he, himself, was quite sure of.

_Or you just don't wish to believe it possible_, his conscience warned.

The Elf who had been standing inquired as he slid back into his chair, "My Lord, might I suggest we increase our forces around the outer perimeters?"

Thranduil shook his head. "I see no reason to put our guards at even greater personal risk than they've already faced patrolling the inner rims of our forest. The spiders take enough strength and numbers to control."

Although a general murmur broke out at this decision, Thranduil stood his ground, and the council fell silent, especially when he drew out of his chair to abruptly take his leave. "If there are no more pressing matters to discuss, I must beg your pardon and retire for the rest of the day."

An intense hum of activity erupted as Thranduil rushed from the room at all speed, ignoring the many shocked expressions from those he passed in his wake, some of whom seemed more baffled or even vexed than surprised by his hasty, terse termination of their meeting. It was only once he was well clear of the council room that Thranduil realised Lathron was on his heel, apparently determined to follow him all the way back to his bedchambers, if he must.

Upon reaching the end of a dark, abandoned corridor, Thranduil gave in to a halt and whipped around to face his cross secretary, one of the few in his close circle of confidants who never backed down from the disgruntled king, even when he was in one of his touchier mood.

"_What_, Lathron?" Thranduil demanded with a perturbed curl of his upper lip.

Lathron didn't acknowledge Thranduil's foul temper. Instead, he scrutinised his king considerately, pensively, before deciding on a diplomatic response.

"I think you ought to reconsider that proposal."

"And which one was that?" Thranduil challenged, letting forth some of his exasperation.

Lathron's face was grim, yet insistent. "To increase our defences at the outskirts of the forest, my Lord."

"I considered that suggestion and denied the request."

Thranduil's words were harsh and unyielding, as were the few soft lines that marked his otherwise charming-looking features. Yet Lathron appeared unfazed by the king's bewitching image. Rather, his response was to be disheartened.

"We won't endure the Darkness that's slowly spreading from the south, hîr vuin. Surely, you _must_ know this. We can't stay out of this battle. Lord Elrond has told you so."

"I have no intention to fight," Thranduil dismissed his secretary in a smug tone, prompting Lathron's brow to furrow further with caution.

"Then, might I inquire,_ what_ you intend to do about it, my Lord?"

Thranduil's gaze diverted for a fleeting moment from Lathron to a spot over the Elf's shoulder, though Lathron didn't take note of what—or _who_, rather—had briefly captured the king's attention, for his piercing eyes came back to Lathron a few seconds later and, once more, they appeared untroubled.

"That, Lathron," Thranduil answered, his deep voice slow and calculated, "I will take my leave to ponder in private, provided you'll allow me to do so?"

Lathron's jaw tightened but he conceded with a swift bow. "Of course, my Lord. As you wish."

Thranduil gave his trailing robes a cutting thrash against the floor before he started towards a descending staircase. With his back turned, he halted before the steps and declared over his shoulder, "Oh, and another thing..."

Lathron blinked. "Yes, my Lord?"

Thranduil half turned his head, his angular profile controlled and his chin slightly raised. "Have Berialagoswen summon Tauriel to meet with me this evening. At nightfall."

With another perplexed blink, Lathron practically bowed in half as the king started to amble away. "Certainly, my Lord."

The secretary never heard the Elleth in question trip over the curve of a stone stump as she made to stumble away in haste, not wishing to be caught.

* * *

"Has the king expressed why he's asked for me?"

"No, my lady."

"But, surely, there _must_ be a reason?"

Berialagoswen turned to Tauriel casually, his expression offering her no solution or sympathy. "If there is, my lady, I know not," he answered, and Tauriel knew the guard's response was sincere.

Still, Tauriel didn't like this. _Not one bit._

As much as she had been hoping for the past several days to obtain an audience with the king, after unexpectedly stumbling upon King Thranduil and his secretary in a heated argument over Mirkwood's security earlier that day, Tauriel now had viable reason for misgivings. The king had caught her lurking in the shadows, for starters, and, undoubtedly, he wasn't pleased to discover her listening in on what was supposed to be a private conversation. She suspected that that was why he had asked her to meet with him.

_Probably to reprimand me further for being a curious fool._ Tauriel frowned as they took off in another direction rather than where the king normally dined, uncertain of where they were going. _Why did you have to linger, Tauriel? Why didn't you just keep walking like any other normal Elf? You_ know _curiosity has a track record for getting you in trouble!_

_...That, and your big mouth._

Tauriel swallowed hard and attempted to placate her nerves, reminding herself that she had nothing to fear from King Thranduil. Yes, he was intimidating—he always had been for the some six hundred years she had known him—but he had never, ever shown any indication of hurting her.

_Unless you count his cutting your bow in half and then touching the tip of his sword to your chest a year ago..._

Tauriel rid her mind of _that_ grim reality as fast as she could. She may not have agreed with her king, and indeed thought him to be rather heartless at times, but even she couldn't deny his reasoning for attacking her back. She had threatened him first, after all, and expecting the king to do nothing in return would have been ridiculous, especially after being lectured to in front of his people.

If causing her bodily harm had been in the cards, however, Tauriel was certain that the king would have punished her the moment she stepped foot into Mirkwood territory again. So far, he hadn't threatened her or coaxed her into saying or doing anything foolish.

_So far..._

They suddenly happened upon a pair of doors Tauriel didn't recognise. Two guards were stationed outside and opened the doors for them. Berialagoswen led the way inside, with a freshly hesitant Tauriel trailing behind, suspicious eyes darting about.

The room might have been dark if not for the many torches there were lit along the stone walls. In the centre was a medium-sized pond filled to the brim with the warm waters that ran from Mirkwood's waterfall. Fish of various sizes swam about, some even flipping in and out of the water on occasion, their impulsive, light splashing capturing Tauriel's undivided attention. Her instincts brought her closer to the pond, for she wished nothing more than to watch the fish dance and play before her eyes. She smiled fondly at the remembrance of such a simple, engaging visual from her past, having not watched it with her own eyes in ages.

_Not since Legolas and I use to chase them down the river..._

A brief bit of indulgence was brought to a standstill when Berialagoswen spoke, though he didn't address Tauriel but someone else; someone Tauriel had nearly forgotten about, albeit only for a moment or two.

"Hîr vuin."

Tauriel's emerald eyes met a set of fierce blue and her heart instinctively beat faster against her chest. Those eyes she knew so well surveyed her thoughtfully, dangerously, for an agonising moment before returning to her face.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel softly acknowledged King Thranduil as well, her voice somewhat hoarse at having been caught off her guard; she bowed her head low, echoing Berialagoswen's respectful gesture.

"Thank you, Berialagoswen," the king responded, his indifferent expression evidently unchanged by the sight of her, "you may leave us."

The retreating of the guard's footsteps, followed by the loud slamming of hefty doors, left Tauriel chilled to the bone. She kept her eyes on the king, however, resolved not to let him suspect the fears prickling beneath the surface of her collected exterior.

"Thank you for coming," King Thranduil surprised Tauriel next by conveying with a certain politeness; he gestured towards a cup of wine he clasped in one hand. "Would you care for some wine?"

"I... No, but thank you. I had some with dinner."

"Then water, perhaps?"

"Thank you, that would be fine."

Thranduil turned around and strolled over to a long, narrow table containing a handful of trays, drinks, and silver goblets. He took the liberty of pouring her a glass of cold water but continued standing at a distance, extending the goblet out to her to take. Tentatively, Tauriel progressed over to him and accepted the offering, her smaller fingers lightly brushing his as she took the goblet from his hand.

The hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood on end and she froze in place. No one touched the king. No one dared. And she hadn't done so since she was young.

_It's not like I did it on purpose!_ she gulped, unawares of showcasing her shock and abhorrence at such a fumble in the king's presence.

"It's all right, Tauriel," she heard King Thranduil chuckle at her expense; he rarely laughed, so scarcely that the oddity of it probably should have frightened her, but it didn't. "And, I can assure you, your water isn't poisoned."

"I..." Tauriel was abnormally tongue-tied. "Erm, I didn't think it was..."

King Thranduil shrugged, took a slow, appreciative sip of his red wine, and walked away from her. A red-faced Tauriel followed him, making sure to keep a considerable distance between them, and was soon standing before the attractive pond once more, the faint, rippling sound of the water soothing and putting her mind at ease—a bit.

She and King Thranduil stood in silence and reflection there for some time, he, on occasion, sipping his wine and Tauriel eventually taking small tastes of her water, until the stillness became almost unbearable to withstand. She had chanced eying the king sidelong several times over, unsure of what he was contemplating as his eyes stared down into the crisp, sapphire water with an intense concentration.

"Hîr vuin," she finally chanced speaking up, her gaze uneasy as he turned to look at her, "you sent for me?"

"Yes, I did." Tauriel waited and her eyebrows rose the longer he stared without explanation. "How are you liking your return to Mirkwood?" he, at last, inquired, and the red-haired Elleth seemed taken aback by the question.

"Well enough," she settled for replying.

A gentle crease formed at the corner of Thranduil's mouth. "You don't seem at all happy."

The befuddled wrinkles lining Tauriel's brow faded. "I'm not."

"Do explain," he encouraged her without sounding as though he was egging her on. "I lifted your banishment and allowed you to return to your home. I would've thought that that would have made you happy."

"It has..." She paused before adding, "And it hasn't, my Lord. I'm grateful to be amongst my kin again, but I find my time—and presence—here to be a waste..."

"A 'waste'?"

"And a nuisance, if we're to be frank, my Lord."

"A 'nuisance'?" King Thranduil's thick eyebrows came together at a severe angle. "I wouldn't have permitted you to come back here, Tauriel, if I found your presence to be an inconvenience to me."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, though unconvinced, and Thranduil sensed it.

"Do you wish to leave?"

A flash of panic flickered across her pallid face that didn't go amiss. "No, my Lord. I... I simply don't wish to do _nothing_ whilst I'm here is all." The king's subsequent silence and unreadable countenance as he stared down at her pressed Tauriel to continue, "I know I let you down, my Lord, and I understand that my actions on the battlefield made my banishment impossible to revoke at the time. I have no expectations of being reinstated to my former position as Captain of the Guard—"

"Nor should you," King Thranduil cut in, his tone non-biting but firm, nonetheless. "You disobeyed your king, Tauriel. You refused to return to Mirkwood as commanded, even after I sent Legolas out to summon you back. Then you had the audacity to turn on me before my own company. You pointed an arrow at your king and threatened my life, amongst a host of other wrongful claims you accused me of."

Tauriel tried not to flinch as King Thranduil relayed those unforgettable events as they had unfurled, and without holding back. She may have repeated the proceedings often enough for herself alone, but hearing her series of betrayals from the king's own lips—his voice dripping with unmitigated anger and, worse, profound disappointment—made her actions seem all the more distressing to hear, even if she still very much believed in the principles that had led to those decisions.

"So, no, you should _not_ expect such a luxury from me."

Tauriel quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks blushing a profuse red. "Yes, my Lord."

"Continue, then."

Tauriel's gaze wavered but she did her best to meet his chilling eyes. "I was going to, perhaps, ask of you, my Lord, to provide me with something productive to do? I'd like to be of use to the realm again in some capacity or other. I don't care what that might be, just as long as I have something to do besides..."

_Think about Kíli_, she wanted to blurt out but managed to stop herself.

King Thranduil kept silent for a lengthy pause, his eyes moving in a gradual circle from Tauriel to the tranquil pond and back to her again. The cutthroat ire Tauriel had perceived in those blue irises before had seemingly vanished, though she wasn't about to fall under a sense of false security yet. She had been in the presence of her king enough to reckon his unpredictability.

"Very well," he concluded, and Tauriel let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding in. "If you wish to be useful then I shall take my chances on you one more time."

"Thank you, my Lord." Tauriel provided him with a considerable bow of appreciation.

"But, understand, Tauriel, that there will _not_ be another."

"I understand, my Lord."

King Thranduil's acute response left her slightly off kilter, however. "We shall see."

He stared at her long and hard as he guzzled the remainder of his goblet dry, though its usually delectable contents seemed to have left a dissatisfying taste in his mouth. He continued to sharply appraise her.

"You're not to make yourself privy to any private conversations I might have in the future, either. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"My Lord," Tauriel stammered and mentally tried to brace herself, "I assure you, I wasn't trying to—"

"_Do I make myself clear_?"

Tauriel forced civility from her lips with a restrained, "Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil nodded in satisfaction, though his gaze had hardened in a matter of seconds. "Mirkwood is no longer your playground, Tauriel. You have grown far too brash and bold these past many moons; but, I realise now that I'm partly to blame for your behaviour. For favouring and indulging you for as long as I did, I enabled you, and I never should have allowed it to continue; I should have put a stop to it long ago."

Tauriel inadvertently stepped back, as though she had received a hard blow to the chest. "My Lord, I... I honestly never meant to suggest that, by following my heart and my beliefs, I haven't appreciated all that you've done for me—"

"And I shall no longer pay you the favours I once did," King Thranduil tore right through Tauriel's quiet candour, his features as hard as stone; the result pained Tauriel deeply, but she remained still. "You will work and you will _prove_ your loyalty to this realm—and to me—or I shan't hesitate to rid you of my presence once and for all."

By the end of King Thranduil's merciless-sounding remark, Tauriel's eyes were wide as saucers and her heart was thumping twice as fast. She could feel a tremendous heat trickling up her neck and onto her face and desperately tried to ignore the strong inclinations that suggested she either retort something she would surely regret, slap her king across the face so hard that it might convey the physical ruthlessness his words had marked on her, or fall to ground and make a real mess of herself by breaking down into tears.

Tauriel opted for none of these scenarios, however. She forced herself to stare squarely into the heartless eyes of her king, the most powerful and awe-inspiring Elf she had ever known and respected, and said nothing.

"Do we understand each other now, Tauriel?" asked King Thranduil in a hushed voice, sliding nearer to her, so close that she could see her wounded reaction in his eyes.

Tauriel responded the only sensible way she could at that moment: she lied.

"Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil turned his back on her with the same swift, scathing dismissal he had shown his secretary earlier that day. "You may go," he informed her so casually that Tauriel's cheeks burned a flaming red in response.

It took Tauriel another second or two to force her legs to move, but, once they did, she took off for the door two or three strides to her usual one, forcing herself not to turn her head or let a foul word escape her tongue until she was well clear of the king's presence.

Half-way back to her bedchambers and she was absentmindedly wiping furious tears from her eyes. _No_, her mind was screaming as she turned a corner and started up a couple steep stairs, _we_ don't _know each other! Not at all!_

_Except for one thing_, she noted as she finally reached the peaceful refuge that was her personal quarters, _there really isn't any love in my king! I thought, perhaps, I'd been wrong and misjudged him, but no! There really is_ no _love in him, after all!_

* * *

**A/N #2: Well, I _did_ tell ya'll that there's a_ lot_ for these two to work through before they get all kissy, kissy on us, didn't I?  
**

***points helplessly at Review Box and runs for shelter*_  
_**


	5. Amin lava (I yield)

**A/N: Hello! I come bearing a new chappie, and it's the longest one yet! :)  
**

**Also, I'm happy to share that this story was recently rec'ed for the first time in a compiled list of Thrandiel fics supposedly worth reading! I'm super excited about this, as silly as it may sound, because it means this little story of mine has garnered some interest (at least, from those of you who are so faithfully reading and reviewing!), and, well, I'm a sap and that means an awful lot to me so... *HUGS*****  
**

**OK, I'm shutting up now. Fly on, oh lovely readers!**

**EDIT: Small errors fixed roughly an hour after original posting. (Sorry! That's what I get for updating when I'm tired.)**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Amin lava (I yield)**

* * *

Night had fallen over Mirkwood but the faint shimmer of the stars, barely viewable through the thick trees that reached towards the heavens above, wouldn't permit the forest's Elven king much rest or relaxation. No, there were never such luxuries as 'rest' for a king such as him. Locking himself away was preferable and consoling, but rest was a concept Thranduil hadn't mastered in an exceedingly long time.

At least, Thranduil pondered as he peered gravely up to mostly obstructed skies, nightfall allowed a period to be alone with his thoughts, granting him momentary peace—however short it may be—in order to reflect and remember better days.

_So, so long ago..._

The subtle wrestling of the trees as they merged with a brisk autumn wind pricked Thranduil's sharp ears to attention, forcing his wandering mind back to the present. Mirkwood was quiet this evening, as solemn and restless as him.

Thranduil closed his eyes, letting forth a burdensome sigh few would have understood, and the soft breeze encircled him, basking his tall, rigid form—much like an anchored tree—in its shivering embrace. The king wasn't like the ancient trees of his kingdom, however. His roots had been damaged and expelled from their foundation ages ago.

_Broken. Never to be mended. Forever a shallow, empty shell._

Perhaps he had been a touch too hard on Tauriel today.

_That_ sudden consideration shot Thranduil's eyes wide open, and an unwelcoming sneer crossed his otherwise poised expression. The wind surrounding him yielded and departed.

To his treacherous captain, Thranduil hadn't expressed anything that wasn't the truth. Regardless of how she took his remarks, the spirited Elleth, who had grown up under his watchful eye, _had_, as he expressed to her that evening, grown far too bold for her own good. He understood that he was, at least, partially to blame for her dangerous, free-thinking ways, for he had been the main culprit to indulge her at one time in her youth.

_And never put a stop to it. You old fool._

Ever since an orphaned Tauriel had unexpectedly come under Thranduil's and the late queen's charge—as a mere, scrawny child with a pretty face and without a home or parental unit—the king had treated her too softly, too delicately, for how could he not?

An only child, Tauriel had lost her mother and father in a terrible bloodbath that had come about in part due to the king's political agenda. It was_ his _fault that her parents had been so senselessly slaughtered by their enemy. Therefore, didn't Tauriel deserve to be a bit spoiled, particularly after being subjected to such excruciating loss, and at such a tender young age?

That excruciating remorse, which Thranduil felt deeply for all his fallen kin, gnawed at his soul, never granting him absolute peace. So guilt-ridden was he that the king couldn't so much as bring himself to confess his shame to his wife whilst she was alive.

Thus, Thranduil tried to bury his guilt and coddled Tauriel in much the same manner as he had with his only son: he treated the redhead like royalty.

_She's long forgotten all that_, Thranduil lamented sorely in the darkness, his wounded eyes shimmering openly for no one to see. _She wouldn't remember..._

Indeed Tauriel had probably long forgotten the many times she and Legolas had sprinted into the king's personal chambers as children, after an eventful day spent sprinting through the forest or chasing after its many four-legged creatures. She had been quite delighted to see him then, and the feeling had been mutual...once. He hadn't hesitated to scoop the little orphan up into his arms, along with Legolas, and embrace them both as equals—one, his own flesh and blood, and the other, his own in every way but.

At one time, the king had, in fact, bestowed Tauriel with his heart, illustrating a warmth and affection she had since accused him of not possessing.

_No. She wouldn't remember me the way I once was. _I _hardly remember myself anymore... _

In fact, if the subdued, reflective Elf dared to dig deeper and extract those early memories from Tauriel's childhood, he might have come to admit to himself that night, and beneath the stars that bore witness, that he had loved the Elleth as if she had been one of his own.

With those large, wondrous green eyes, fiery red hair and a spitfire personality, she had easily won over the king and queen, though she later proved trying to tame—or, as it later turned out, to detach oneself from—as the years passed.

_You managed_, Thranduil firmly reminded himself, turning away from his balcony at last to retreat indoors. _You had to detach._ _It was for the best._

Thranduil's mind still reeled over Tauriel as he noiselessly went about locking his doors and shutting his windows, casting out any natural light that might invade his room otherwise, as though he needed to conserve the darkness as long as possible. It had been eons since the king had last deemed himself worthy of the moon and the stars' light, after all, and too long a glimpse at either left his broken soul wrought with despair and loneliness.

_You allowed her too much. And Legolas, too_, he reproached with a scowl, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he began pacing the length of his bedroom.

He would have liked to swig back another glass of wine or two, but he had already emptied one bottle, and an uncomfortable headache was starting to pound his brain. The anger, too, festering from within was unconsciously bringing a past physical wound to the surface, and it spread rapidly across the left side of Thranduil's face like a wild fire.

_Is it little wonder she would grow up to turn on you? That Legolas would turn his back on you as well? _

_Love! _he concluded._ This is what love has brought upon you, Thranduil: destruction and ruin!_ _ Nothing more!_

Thranduil gave a sudden jolt before a medium-sized mirror, catching a glimpse of his disastrous reflection within the glass. He stared with disgust at the rotted, burnt flesh that tore across one side of his face, its horrid appearance ruining what was, for any Elf, their most exotic physical quality: their beauty and grace. His left eye, too, was leaden and unrecognisable, murky and unclear.

_Monstrous_, he bemoaned in silent agony. _Vile... Unsightly... Monstrous._

_Tauriel is the cause for your undoing_, his conscience proceeded to lash out, his irate sneer returning._ You accepted her, and how did she repay you? By defying your orders and threatening your very life. And what do you do, Thranduil, son of Oropher, le pe-channas? You invite her back into your sphere to ridicule and defy you once more! _

The rush of resentment and wrath was as swift as a passing blade. Thranduil swung his arm across the counter top of his dresser, sending all sorts of items flying and crashing to the floor, including his treasured autumn crown of thorns. Some of the twigs snapped in half, the decorative leaves scattering lifelessly at his feet.

Breathing heavily, Thranduil peered into the mirror once more, this time with reluctance, and found his long ago injury receding back underneath his skin, camouflaged and invisible. Still, he knew it was there, its exquisite pain forever palpable beneath the hard exterior he wore with such efficiency.

_So much for love..._

* * *

Tauriel wasn't sure of the time when she next awoke. The faint sunlight that crept through her windows, which left small rays of light across her reposed face, told her that it must be close to mid-morning.

She couldn't recall opening the windows the previous night, either, and now a chilly draft had settled in her bedroom, though, as an Elf, she was unaffected by the dramatic drop in temperature; but, perhaps, in the heat of the moment, she had thrown them open to catch her breath and let the cool air calm her outrage.

One thing was certain: Tauriel _did_ remember stomping back to her bedroom in tears and collapsing onto her bed. She had dissected and obsessed over every detail of that wretched exchange with the king for the next several hours, occasionally punching the pillows in frustration. (She may have even secretly wished the pillows she hit were King Thranduil's face, but she would readily keep that side note to herself).

Deciding that she had best shower and dress rather than spend the next few hours moping in bed, Tauriel tore back the covers and made her way to the bath. She hoped an assignment from King Thranduil would be forthcoming, because the last thing she needed was another listless day spent juggling her many jumbled thoughts.

Not only was she still fuming over the king's words from last night, but the anger inside, having brewed long and steadily overnight, was quickly morphing into tears as she began to bathe. Her mind turned futilely from the seemingly heartless nature of her king to the final, crushing moments of Kíli's life, and, there in the privacy of her bath, Tauriel lost it. She wept openly, without shame, not giving a damn who might be overhearing her grief-stricken sob fest.

_Tragedy... Loss... Banishment... Wounded pride..._

Tauriel allowed herself time to release these toxins, all the while fighting to grasp some composure again. By the time she stepped from her hour-long bath and slipped into the attractive robes King Thranduil had gifted her once more, she was feeling recharged and in control of her emotions. Perhaps a good cry had been what an Elf healer would have ordered.

In either case, Tauriel felt marginally better and prayed that the small lift in her spirits would last. Unfortunately, by noontime there was still no word from King Thranduil, though.

_Give it time, Tauriel. You just made your request to him last evening. _

With a disappointed sigh, Tauriel flung open her bedroom door—she couldn't remain cooped up inside her quarters a moment longer—and began to walk. There was no destination in mind, per usual, only a feeble hope of distracting herself.

Tauriel wasn't conscious of progressing directly to the front gates until her eyes stumbled upon their imposing outline. Two guards she knew were stationed at the entrance, and they eyed their former captain suspiciously as she approached, who appeared somewhat dazed and at a loss.

Then one of them cleared his throat and spoke uneasily, "No one's permitted to come or go without the king's consent."

"I'm well aware of that," Tauriel snapped in reply, though she felt utterly foolish for not having paid better attention to where she was going.

In haste, Tauriel retraced her steps and took off in another direction. Her dead end had turned into quite the let-down, however.

What the outdoors Elleth wouldn't give to freely stroll the forest grounds beyond the gates, perhaps even enjoy a brief swim in Mirkwood's warm, tranquil waters beneath the fall. It was the height of autumn in these woods, and her heart longed to take in the splendour of arresting golds and red foliage that would surely be on display for as far as the eye could see.

If it weren't for the spiders—those damnable, persistent creatures that kept gnawing on and sickening their precious woodlands—the kingdom would be showering in such vibrant colours at this time of year. Mirkwood's autumns were unlike any other in Middle-earth, and the yearn to gaze upon them with her own eyes was palpable, and yet, cruelly denied.

_If only the king would allow us the right to come and go as we please again..._

Tauriel frowned and redirected her feet. No, she wouldn't think on King Thranduil on this particular stroll. It was the surest way to end up in a foul mood, and she was determined to remain level-headed.

As Tauriel's casual walk through Mirkwood's underground caves twisted and deepened, however, it became increasingly more difficult _not _to think on the forbidding Elf who ruled over this majestic, formidable kingdom. The reality of its increasing darkness and gloom saddened her, though, for this was no longer the Mirkwood splendour Tauriel had grown up enjoying.

Tauriel paused as she reached the foot of a staircase, finding herself off-kilter by the bend in thought her conscience had abruptly taken. She rarely reflected on her past, for much of it was a combination of pain, rebirth, and unfortunate change she would have rather put aside, preferably for good.

_The great fire..._

Tauriel's pace slowed as a particularly harrowing memory began to take over. She remembered the deadly inferno but only bits and fragments. Her parents had been amongst the many who had sought to defend their lands from a vicious pack of Orcs who had sprung up from the south, intent to raise hell and kill as many of their kin as possible. The king and queen had led the charge against their attackers, and her parents had followed their lead.

_Tauriel raced after them that fateful afternoon, slipping unseen through the gates as the army marched off to face their uninvited guests, and tracked their whereabouts some distance behind on foot. _

_It had been sunny that day—an odd omen for the Elves, considering how many they lost that terrible day in fighting to maintain what was rightfully theirs. _

_Fearful of the repulsive beasts her mother and father had been summoned to combat, Tauriel hadn't hesitated to follow them into the thresh of battle and was petrified by what she encountered as she drew close: many of the old, long-standing oaks she had regularly climbed had been set ablaze; the hideous creatures she had heard about only in tales were striking down her kin left and right, using knives and stolen swords forged by her own people; blood and fire was everywhere and the ground was quickly littered with the dead, Elves and Orcs alike. _

_That was, perhaps, the most distressing image Tauriel took away from her experience: the countless faces of her dead kin lying unmoving on the scorched earth, their lifeless bodies consumed by flames. _

_Tauriel had crouched close enough to see specks of blood fly, unable to turn her eyes away from the horror. Concealed behind thick and heavy brushes, she watched as her father sliced an unfortunate Orc's head clear off its shoulders. The rest of the beast's body convulsed and fell after. He hadn't yet spotted a smaller Orc approaching from behind, and it was too late to take note of the arrow that had launched and was coming for him at tremendous speed. _

_Tauriel leapt out of the bushes; she needed to warn her father. But, she wasn't fast enough. _

_The arrow launched straight through her father's back and burst through the opposite side, splitting his chest wide open. Blood rained from his centre and from the corners of his mouth. He gasped and gagged for air, though oxygen wouldn't save him now._

"_ADA!" Tauriel cried out in horror, her small being frozen to the spot as her innocent eyes met his._

_Her father staggered sideways—a look of sheer surprise etched across his ashen face, now drained of its pure Elven life—and then he collapsed like a stone into a pool of deep water and went perfectly still. _

_Tauriel let forth a terrible scream that came from somewhere deep inside and rushed towards him, arms outstretched. Irrational thought suggested to the innocent child that, if she could just reach him, maybe he would turn over and show her that he was all right; but, then something else caught her eye and stopped her fresh in her tracks._

_Red. No, not blood. Hair. Red, wet hair covering the stiff, pallid profile of a wise-looking Elleth who lay on the ground, dead. Her nose and pink lips, though they had turned an unnatural shade of blue, matched Tauriel's, and the child's fiercely beating heart catapulted into her throat. It was her mother, and she, too, was gone._

"_NANA!" _

_Tauriel's knees buckled and gave way, her wide, watery eyes darting helplessly from one departed parent to the other. They couldn't even perish together. Even as death separated them from their daughter, their bodies lay far apart, not touching. _

_A shaken, stunned Tauriel crawled her way over sharp branches and rough dirt soiled with Elven blood in a desperate attempt to reach her family. The awful stench of death and torched flesh didn't faze her or distract her from her cause. She just needed to get to her mother and father. _

_Tauriel had nearly reached the unfolding battle scene when two enormous Orcs paroling the outskirts abruptly blocked her advance. "What's this?" one of them snorted, peering down at the bloodied Elleth with a mixture of curiosity and disdain._

"_A wee one," cackled the other, piecing together the child's tears and the fallen figures that lay separated from one another at their feet. "Was she your mama, you little dog?" he ridiculed with a sinister, yellow grin. Tauriel's only response was to quiver._

"_Well, let's send this one to join her mamma and dada!"_

_The larger of the two, who had been the one to shoot the arrow that ultimately killed her father, raised the same bow towards Tauriel, this time to wipe out the family's last remaining descent, and Tauriel remained paralysed on her hands and knees, numbed and unable to decide between sprinting out of harm's way or allowing the loathsome creature to finish her off._

_Suddenly, the nauseating sound of flesh tearing made Tauriel startle in the grass. In the next instant, the Orc's bow and arrow had dropped to the ground, and something stocky and solid had borne straight through his chest, as well as the shorter Orc's to its right. _

_Tauriel's mouth dropped at the sight of the king's majestic elk piercing the Orcs' flesh with its mighty antlers. Their bodies were then flung into the air and landed in the brush several feet off, dead. _

"_Henig!" came an authoritative voice Tauriel recognised, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Tolo ar nin!"_

_The elk rushed forward and Tauriel made to stumble out of the way to avoid being crushed by the beast's giant hooves. As she reared back, she finally noticed King Thranduil bestride the grand creature, peering down at her through eyes that were as bright and soul-crushing as the sky overhead. His lips were slightly parted and there were trails of blood speckled across his cheeks and in his billowing, golden hair. He appeared both impenetrable and perturbed by the sight of her and quickly leaned down to retrieve the small Elf from the ground._

"_Take my hand!" he ordered._

_Tauriel stalled, her frightened eyes sweeping from her king to her parents' lifeless bodies and back again. _

"_Av-'osto," King Thranduil insisted more gently, his words soft and caring, which perked Tauriel's ears up at once; she had never heard her king speak with such tenderness before._ _Then again, she had never been quite so close to him, either. _

_The quiet moment between king and child was violently disrupted by the returning, frenzied sounds of battle—the dying, the fleeing, and the pursuers shattering the stillness of their beloved woodlands. _

_Without another passing thought, and scared out of her wits, Tauriel reached up and grabbed onto King Thranduil's much larger hand, whose fingers folded around hers with warmth, their grip immensely strong. A second later and Tauriel was yanked from the ground and straddling the front of the elk, with one of the king's protective arms looped tightly around her midsection._

"_A lelyalmë!" he commanded to his company._

_The elk sprang into a gallop, charging and taking out Orcs in its path as they made for home. King Thranduil, too, wiped out those who dared to try to attack them along the way, using his free arm to stab and shave ugly heads from bodies. _

_Tauriel squeezed her eyes shut, holding tight to the king's arm that kept her from being thrown off the elk, and didn't dare to open her eyes again until she could no longer sense blades piercing flesh or Orcs spewing blood. She wasn't aware of being dismounted from the elk a few, short minutes later or being carried through the front gates by King Thranduil himself. It was only once that same dogmatic voice instructed her to open her eyes that Tauriel dared do so._

_Tauriel's frightened eyes darted about the unfamiliar room she found herself in, her body trembling uncontrollably. The ceilings were high and vaulted, the windows let in a calm, gentle breeze coming from the West, and she was sitting on top of a chaise that was at least three times her size. _

_Those same striking blue eyes came into focus in front of her, along with the rest of his towering, armoured frame, which was kneeling down in front of her so that they may be at equal eye level. _

"_What's your name, selde?" Tauriel vaguely heard the king ask._

"_I..." She blinked several times; her heart was beating out of her chest. _

"_It's all right," King Thranduil assured her, surprising Tauriel by gracing her shoulder with his touch. "You're safe now."_

"_B - But..." Her eyes welled with tears. "Nana... Ada..."_

_The lines at the corners of King Thranduil's eyes and mouth sharpened a little, but the rest of his face remained beautifully serene. In silence, he squeezed the Elleth's shoulder, conveying his sorrow for her loss without resorting to words to express them. _

_A lengthy moment passed before the king finally whispered, his sombre words taking root in the tortured recesses of the child's mind, "Amin hiraetha, little serene."_

_Tauriel was having trouble processing her reality. She had observed her father's violent passing, stumbled upon her mother's corpse, and witnessed the devastation of what fighting the enemy could do to her own people. Now, she was sitting in the king and queen's private chambers—or so she could only assume—an orphan and entirely alone in the world. _

_Overwhelmed, Tauriel threw her hands over her face, pulled her knees to her chest, and began to cry. Her sobs were soft and strained, however, not loud or overbearing as one might expect a child who had just lost her mother and father to sound. _

_She wasn't mindful of King Thranduil drifting from the floor to the chaise, facing her, his eyes peering down upon the weeping child with concern, and only for a short moment before he eased Tauriel against his chest. She didn't know she had grabbed onto the front of his bloodied armour, her tiny fingers clawing helplessly at the silver metal, desperate for something to cling to. They soon gave up and resumed covering her face, though the rest of her reclined into him for shelter and protection. _

_Tauriel hadn't realised that she was being embraced, either, comforted by a foreign pair of hands that rubbed gentle circles up and down her back. Her miniature being swayed back and forth in time with his until, eventually, she was too worn out to continue crying. _

_She wanted to sleep. To forget, if only for an hour or two. It was the only solution. Tomorrow she would surely awaken from this nightmare to the familiarity of her mother and father's warm greetings, hugs, and kisses. _

_Yes, this was all just a bad, bad dream._

"_What's your name, selde?" the king tried inquiring again, speaking delicately into her ear._

"_T - Tauriel," she snivelled against his chest, unable to cease shaking; she was grateful that, despite the rigid armour he wore, King Thranduil had a surprisingly warm touch._

"_Do you know who I am?"_

"_Y - Yes..."_

"_Then you know you have nothing to fear?"_

"_Y - Yes..."_

"_Don't be afraid. I will look after you."_

_Tauriel slowly drew back to look up into the king's eyes, taken by how charitable they were. Her little face, flushed and stained with tears, became half cradled by one of his gloved hands._

"_You are not alone, Tauriel, all right?"_

"_But... My nana...and ada..."_

"_I know," he conveyed as softly and understandingly as possible, "but I promise you, little selde, it will be all right."_

_Tauriel blinked, a glint of hope sweeping across her green eyes, and then another tear trickled down her cheek, its presence a heart-wrenching symbol of her loss. _

_King Thranduil looked as though he were about to offer further comfort to the orphaned child, but the doors to his chambers unexpectedly opened, startling Tauriel into burrowing her face in the king's chest again._

"_It's all right, Tauriel," he informed her a moment later, lightly tapping the back of her head. "It's quite all right. You're safe now."_

"_Thranduil, we've cleared the area!" exclaimed an enthusiastic voice—female—that rounded on them, though Tauriel didn't chance a peek to see who it was. "The Orcs have been slaughtered! Every last one of— Oh!" Her voice abruptly changed, turning daintier, more dignified. "Why, who is this little selde?"_

"_This is Tauriel. Tauriel?" _

_Skittish and uncertain, Tauriel peered sidelong and was taken aback by the angelic Elleth now kneeling at her side, with long, shimmering hair that rivalled the king's. Her azure eyes were curious, deep and wise, her smile loving and friendly. _

_Tauriel understood at once who she was face to face with before the king introduced them to each other. "This is my wife, Queen Vanya."_

"_A, Tauriel," the queen greeted with tender-hearted affection, drawing a naked hand to her chest in friendship. "Why do you grieve, little selde?"_

"_She...has just seen the battle," King Thranduil explained in short, and that was apparently all the queen needed to know to form an understanding of her situation. _

_Queen Vanya's face turned heavy with heartache and concern. She reached out a hand to stroke one of Tauriel's wet cheeks._

"_Oh, little selde," she murmured, tracing her thumb along a lone tear, "you should not have gone there. That was far too dangerous. What might have become of you?"_

"_NANA!"_

_Tauriel jumped again in King Thranduil's arms as another loud noise disrupted them, this time a voice that sounded not much older than hers. A pair of light-sprinting feet rushed towards them, and the queen turned from Tauriel to outstretch her arms and scoop someone—a child—into her arms. _

_The Elf in question donned green robes and brown shoes and was, perhaps, an inch taller than Tauriel. As he stepped out of his mother's embrace, he turned to face the redheaded youth being coddled by his father and studied her a moment, his brilliant eyes, which matched the king and queen's, pinning Tauriel in place._

"_Legolas," stated the king, brushing a few hairs off of Tauriel's shoulder, "I'd like you to meet Tauriel."_

"_A, Tauriel," the boy named Legolas addressed her, issuing the same polite manner as his mother; then he inched closer, his eyebrows coming together. "Are you a Silvan, too?"_

_Tauriel's cheeks reddened. Was that meant to be an insult or...?_

"_Y - Yes," she answered, turning away in shame._

_Legolas, on the other hand, shot her a wide grin. "Then you're from these parts? My ada's the king! And my nana's the queen."_

"_I think she knows that, Legolas," the queen chuckled and eyed Tauriel reassuringly; she wrapped an arm around the prince's small torso and tugged him closer. "Tauriel lost her parents today, lonneg," she whispered into Legolas's ear, wishing to be respectfully quiet on the sensitive subject, though Tauriel still overheard. _

_Immediately, Legolas's smug smile vanished. He took a cautious step nearer and bowed his head._

"_Goheno nin. I'm sorry for your loss, Tauriel."_

_Tauriel was too numb to reply. Instead, she shied away from the boy and hid her face against King Thranduil's armour._

"_Perhaps we should allow Tauriel time to rest?" the king suggested to his wife, who issued a silent nod in agreement, rose, and placed her hands on her son's shoulders. _

_The prince was too busy eying Tauriel over (or what little he could see of her) to pay attention to his parents' hushed exchange about the earlier fight, however. Intrigue and uncertainty were etched upon his youthful features as he stared long and hard at the shy, soft-spoken Elleth, until, at last, Tauriel chanced another peek at him, too. _

_Legolas's countenance, pinched from scrutinising her at length, eased into a look of kindness and good humour, and Tauriel found the prince's handsome smile an added welcome to the king and queen's, though she couldn't speak up and say so. _

"_I'm going to take Tauriel to lie down," she suddenly heard the king say, and, sure enough, Tauriel found herself rising into the air, with King Thranduil bundling her close._

_They turned around and stalked off. Legolas waved to her as he and his mother looked on, but, soon, they, too, disappeared. Tauriel entered a bedroom that was being watched over by a guard, and the king instructed him to snuff out any remaining torch lights and to close the windows._

_Tauriel was carefully placed on an enormous, plush bed that looked as though it might swallow her up. She glanced up to see King Thranduil staring down at her, a tender smile evident, though it was barely traceable in such poor lighting._

"_You can rest here as long as you want, all right? There will be a guard posted outside the door should you need anything."_

_Tauriel bit her lip and gave a minute nodded. She started a little when the king moved closer in order to draw back the covers for her, but she recovered just as quickly and scooted underneath the sheets without needing to be told to do so. _

"_Thank you," she managed once she was settled, her voice scratchy and hoarse; her tiny fingers clasped onto the edge of the covers and pulled them up to her neck. _

_King Thranduil offered the woeful, petrified child a bow as he stepped back from the bed, wishing to give her some space. "We'll check in on you later, little selde. Quel kaima."_

_The king pressed a hand to his chest and extended his arm out in farewell, and, though they both knew their separation would be short, Tauriel felt compelled to exercise the same gesture and did likewise. She was marginally comforted by the kindness his eyes bestowed on her before he turned and left the room, his armoury clanking slightly and his footsteps fading away into the distance._

_All became quiet and still and, under the cover of darkness, Tauriel easily fell into a deep slumber, spent from the overwhelming adrenaline and anguish of the day. Her fragile conscience still expected her to wake later and find her parents very much alive, but, upon being coaxed awake by the king and queen hours later, sorrow shattered what little scrap of hope the Elleth had maintained. _

_Tauriel wept all over again, as though the pain was fresh and unspoiled, and the king and queen were there to console her, permitting the child to scream and cry to her heart's content. _

It seemed odd to remember King Thranduil in such a tender, warm-hearted state, sitting by her side for many hours on end whilst she sobbed for her parents, even going so far as to insure that she ate by feeding the child himself over the next several days, and tucking her back underneath the covers and waiting till she fell asleep before he ever left her room.

King Thranduil had been so different—so much more loving—when Tauriel was young; so nurturing, compassionate, and warm. She had nearly forgotten him capable of such sentiments.

Where was the love in that same Elven ruler now? Where had his kindness, thoughtfulness, and, most importantly, his heart gone?

_I think you know, Tauriel..._

"There you are! Tauriel?"

A distracted Tauriel started and whipped her head around, her mind ripped from one of its most emotional memories like a severe yank to her hair. To her utter surprise, Firverior was standing at the bottom of the staircase, watching her from a short distance away and wearing a look of concern.

Suddenly realising her tears, Tauriel sought to wipe them away, infuriated that she had been caught crying, least of all by a friend. "What?" she asked somewhat irritably, clearing her throat.

"Sorry if I startled you, but we've all been looking for you."

Tauriel angled her head, her tears momentarily forgotten. "'We'?"

"Myself and the other guards. The king wishes to see you."

"Now?"

Firverior nodded, the worry still apparent in his green eyes as they searched hers for any glimmer of further distress. "We've been searching the grounds for nearly a half hour."

"Well, I hadn't gone far."

Firverior's mouth slumped. "Tauriel, have you any idea how far underground we are?"

It only then dawned on the wandering Elleth that she was standing in near complete darkness. There were no torches lining the halls here; no faint candlelight to show the way in or out. In fact, Tauriel couldn't recall having ever been to this section of Mirkwood's caves before; she certainly didn't recognise such dark, dismal surroundings.

"Oh, I..." Tauriel swallowed and settled for an apology. "Amin hiraetha, I wasn't aware of how far I'd strayed."

The apprehension lining Firverior's countenance livened, but, thankfully to Tauriel, he let it slide. "Yes, well, come along. King Thranduil's waiting..."

Tauriel squared her shoulders and sprinted after Firverior up the stairs, quickly ascertaining the considerable distance from where she had started her walk. _Hopefully_, she pondered as she and Firverior made their way back to the king in silence, _King Thranduil has something in mind for me to do. Finally._

* * *

King Thranduil was seated at a wooden desk in a closed off area that adjoined the council room when Tauriel arrived. Lathron was hovering over him, whispering into the king's ear on occasion and handing him correspondences, papers, and other stately matters that were in need of his attention.

King Thranduil didn't so much as raise his head when Tauriel and Firverior entered, appearing otherwise engaged in whatever he was presently reading, but Lathron acknowledged Tauriel's presence with a respectful nod and a quick smile. That small, kind gesture was one the Elleth inwardly appreciated. She had always respected the old, wise secretary, having known him for as long as she had known the king. Lathron was a fair-minded and considerate Elf, and it was a relief to encounter another dear friend of hers who didn't react with disgust or disappointment at seeing her again.

"Hîr vuin, Tauriel is here," Firverior spoke up, and King Thranduil's eyes slowly rose from the bit of parchment in his hands to the redhead in question, their depths scrutinising her for an extended, agonising moment.

"Very well," he answered following the pregnant pause. "You may go, Firverior." He rolled up the parchment in his hands and handed the contents off to Lathron. "We'll finish this later."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lathron with a polite bow; he shuffled around the king's desk but halted as he reached Tauriel's side. "Welcome back. It's good to see you, Tauriel."

"And you, Lathron," she responded in kind, returning the Elf's soft smile.

"You may have a seat," King Thranduil cut in, and his words put a harsh end to their short conversation. Lathron hurried out of the room and Tauriel awkwardly stepped forward, though she couldn't bring herself to sit.

"I'd prefer to stand, hîr vuin, if I may?"

King Thranduil's eyes swept over her with a level of indifference. "Suit yourself."

Tauriel settled for closing her mouth and lowered her gaze, forcing patience and awaiting the king's address. She faintly heard him rise from behind his desk and glide over to her, his silver robes trailing upon the ground behind him.

"You had asked me to find you employment yesterday; to give you something to do."

Tauriel nodded agreeably, avoiding eye contact. "Yes, my Lord." She prayed King Thranduil wasn't about to offer her some lowly position that she would not only find insulting but might garner the rise out of her he likely was looking for.

"I have decided on what I think would be best suited for you."

_I'm sure you have_, Tauriel proceeded to mock him, albeit, thankfully, in her head. She kept her head down, listening intently as the king began to circle around her, his pace deliberately slow and unhurried.

"After much consideration, I've concluded that you should reconvene your position as a member of the guard." At the subsequent shock in Tauriel's eyes, for she raised her head and gave the king a stunned, suspicious-looking reaction, he continued, "Oh, not as Captain. I couldn't allow it after the treachery and deceit that's transpired. It would be beneath my standards and they are exceptionally high to win back, particularly for _you_."

Tauriel's jaw tightened but she refused to retort, allowing King Thranduil to carry on without interruption. "However, I _shall _permit you another position; one, I hope, might reaffirm my belief in your loyalty to me."

Tauriel made sure to keep her expression blank. "My Lord?"

King Thranduil ceased circling her and took a step closer, his sky blue irises intensely staring her down, his mouth set in a challenging sort of sneer. "I've chosen to make you one of my personal guards."

The king offered nothing more, choosing instead to watch the taxing redhead gradually bring her lips together and swallow hard. Her reaction might have been perfectly composed, but he wasn't fooled by such calmness. She was likely not only upset by this appointment but also infuriated at being forced to work so closely alongside him. It was simply a matter of exercising patience and allowing time to bring forth her true emotions.

"Well?" he pushed for a response, the quiet atmosphere between them intensifying.

"I... Well..." Tauriel struggled to express. "Are you sure you want _me_ as one of your personal guards, my Lord?"

King Thranduil raised his chin a fraction. "And why wouldn't I? Have I reason to doubt your allegiance and capabilities already before they've been put to use?"

"Certainly not," Tauriel couldn't stop herself from scoffing, though she pressed on with contrived collectedness. "I'm just surprised you would want to work that closely with me after...well, after what I did?"

"Don't be such a simpleton. There's no working 'closely' as one of my guards. You work for _me_; not alongside me," King Thranduil tried to enforce and stretch the truth. "You will be granted access to my personal sphere only when I allow it. Otherwise, you're to maintain your distance. Is that clear?"

Tauriel fought back a snide retaliation, though it took every ounce of composure she had, and bowed her head low. "Of course, my Lord. I humbly thank you for your consideration and accept the position."

In a rush, Tauriel turned on her heel to leave when King Thranduil stopped her with his next cutting remarks, uttering in a cold and calculated tone, "I never granted you permission to leave."

Waiting for the vexed Elleth to turn around and face him, he let the faintest, satisfying smile escape his lips once they made eye contact. "You're to report to your duties immediately."

Tauriel gave a brief look of contention before resuming calmness. "Don't I need to be fitted with the proper attire and weaponry first, my Lord?"

King Thranduil gestured towards the door behind her, and it opened at his silent command. "Berialagoswen will see to it that you are, as you put it, 'properly fitted' with what you need to begin your duties." He stared Tauriel down in a perverse and dubious manner that took her further aback and then added, "I hope you will not make a fool out of me a second time, Tauriel. It's not in my nature to give second chances. Don't make me regret this."

Tauriel watched Thranduil turn his back and return to his desk, his expression its usual smooth mask of apathy again, if not slightly harder and more menacing than the façade she remembered from before her banishment. She was exasperated, to be sure, but such a strange look from her king made her blood run cold.

How had she been able to recall a time when her king was gracious, even _loving_? Had she made that all up in her head in order to deal with the unfortunate happenings that had occurred in childhood?

_No..._ King Thranduil really _had _been warm once, not so cold and terribly unfeeling as he was now, which had evidently been made worse by Legolas's sore departure over a year ago. Firverior's warning to Tauriel stood out in her mind, for he had been correct: the king _wasn't _himself, and, even after going to battle with a real evil that would only smoulder and spread should they stand back and do nothing, he wasn't a king who had been changed for the better.

Apprehensive, cross, and a tad concerned, Tauriel turned away from King Thranduil and stalked out of the room without a parting word, following after Berialagoswen as her mind wrestled things over. It hadn't taken her long to apprehend that this appointment wasn't for her to prove her loyalty.

_This is so the king can keep tabs on me._

With an aggravated sigh, Tauriel pushed onward. If this was the king's wish—to keep a close eye on his former captain rather than allow her to do something far more productive for him and the realm, such as defending it from ominous forces that, for now, lurked in shadow—then she would yield.

_For the time being. Until push comes to shove. Then we'll see how much he regrets appointing me into his 'personal sphere'. _

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

_**le pe-channas = you idiot**_

_**Henig = Child (general)**_

_**Tolo ar nin =** **Come with me**_

**_Av-'osto = Don't be afraid_**

**_A lelyalmë = Let's go_**

**_selde = child (female)_**

**_A = Hi_**

**_Goheno nin = Forgive me_**

**_Quel kaima = Sleep well_**

* * *

**A/N #2: Feedback is appreciated... Thank you to those who review...**


	6. Amin merna quen (I wish to speak)

**A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support of this little story of mine! Your feedback and favs/alerts mean so much! :) Have another chappie!**

**Of note: Per a reader's request, I've gone back through this story so far and added translations for any Elvish words wherever they appear for the _first time_. So, from now on, you can find the translations for any _new_ Elvish words by scrolling down to the bottom of the page. (This chapter doesn't contain any new words, though.)**

**Onward!**

**EDIT 02-13-2015: _I've been informed that "She-Elf" is mostly a negative connotation. (Oops! Like I've said from the beginning, I'm no Tolkien expert.) I've gone back through every chapter so far and changed this to its proper term, "Elleth", and left "She-Elf" in places where it's used in the appropriate context._**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Amin merna quen (I wish to speak)**

* * *

Thranduil tossed and turned violently in bed, quickly becoming entangled in the sheets. He didn't perspire nor shake like that of a mortal king in the midst of a harrowing nightmare, but he did manage a small, inescapable moan on occasion, its echo low and far too faint to be overheard. Whatever was transpiring in his dreams sounded as though it was causing him physical pain to endure, however.

An empty wine bottle sat atop his bedside table, along with a drained glass, its contents long devoured hours before.

Suddenly, Thranduil thrashed in his sleep, cried out into the darkness, and knocked the glass over with a sporadic fling of his arm. The glass hit the floor and shattered into many pieces, sending Thranduil flying up in bed, his breathing laboured and intense. Slowly, the realisation that he was tucked away in the safety of his private quarters eased the disturbed Elven king back into a reclining position, a sigh of relief releasing from his chest. The fragments of glass scattered along the floor would have to be addressed later, for Thranduil was too disquieted over his latest night terror—one of many as of late—to consider the mess he had made.

"Vanya..." he whispered into the darkness of his room, dazzling, alert eyes staring up at the ceiling, though his queen was nowhere in sight. "Our son... _My son_... If he dies...whatever shall I do?"

Of course, there came no answer to this distraught question, only a desolate silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Still, Thranduil peered up at the ceiling, hoping against hope that _some _communication—some glimmer of reconciliation from the divine heavens above—might come forth, but, alas, none emerged. No word of support came, no matter how many times Thranduil desperately reached out beyond the veil that separated life from death; a veil he would gladly tear back and step through if the cruelty of such a long, hollow life would permit him to pass freely.

"Can you not hear me?" he murmured after several minutes had passed, his voice cracking. "Have you, too, forsaken me?"

The terrible, lonely silence answered back, its cruel message the same as it had long been: _You_ _are alone, Thranduil, son of Oropher, and alone you shall ever be._

* * *

Tauriel hadn't put much stock in finding enjoyment in her return to serving King Thranduil, and yet, in her first days on the job as one of his personal guards, she discovered that she cared for it even _less_ than originally anticipated.

Whilst the five other personal guards on staff, all of whom rotated their positions throughout the day and night, viewed their unique roles as private protectors and caregivers to their king the highest honour an Elf could obtain, Tauriel found said role exasperating and...monotonous, at best.

King Thranduil rarely allowed his guards to do more than the average errand or request, such as sending out for his meals, calling upon those whom he demanded an audience with at any given moment, or standing guard inside or outside whatever room he occupied. Being at the king's constant beck and call was a rude awakening for outspoken Tauriel, who, whilst accustomed to being commanded to look over the precious realm of Mirkwood at large, wasn't used to being asked to fetch the king another bottle of wine.

So far, Tauriel had managed to reel in her sharp tongue, but every day was wearing her patience thinner and thinner under King Thranduil's vigilant judgmental eyes. She had been placed on the evening shift and mostly only seen to tedious matters such as ordering the king's dinner—and wine; there was _always_ an abundance of wine that, frankly, alarmed her—before following him on to the library or his personal study, where he would mull over that day's correspondences he had yet to answer or read for hours on end. Tauriel would be instructed to linger in a far off corner of the room where she wouldn't disturb the king's peace and quiet, and, of course, she was permitted to do nothing else except stand guard and come forward on occasion when beckoned.

The other guards leapt at the chance to be of service to their king, but, for Tauriel, the role was an infuriating one, to put it mildly. To be so close to King Thranduil on a regular basis, and yet, to be treated as if she was no more than a lingering shadow that trailed behind the Elf ruler from room to room seemed almost a worse trade to her former life of banishment. Almost.

_Remember how isolated and lonely you were, Tauriel..._

_But aren't you just as isolated and lonely now?_

Tauriel would chew her bottom lip to keep from letting out an exasperated sigh, something she made the mistake of doing unconsciously her third evening at the post and, subsequently, she received King Thranduil's unfortunate reprimanding for her little outburst.

"If you're finding your duty as one of my personal guards to be beneath you then you're permitted to leave at any time."

Tauriel knew the king was baiting her into proving himself correct on the sore subject of taking the chance on rehiring her, but he was also trying to thwart her motivation and patience as well, and she wouldn't have it. She reminded herself daily _not _to fall for the king's mind games, but the long nights spent in his service and, more importantly, his forbidding presence were proving mentally taxing on her spirits.

After nearly a week, Tauriel was ready to scream and curse and dislodge an arrow straight between the damnable Elf's eyes. King Thranduil could be dismissive and rude to her one moment and then (somewhat) appreciative and respectful the next. His moods were unpredictable and touchy, leaving Tauriel and the rest of his staff to guesstimate most of the time on how best to approach him. He may have been her king and thereby offering her a gracious second chance, but this was no way the sprightly Elleth desired to spend her time _or_ her skills. At this rate, she would have rather served the greater realm in another capacity than serve the king alone.

There _was_ a silver lining to be found in all the frustration and forced restraint, however. Although the tasks given to her were in and of themselves mundane, Tauriel hadn't bargained on discovering such an interest in what the king's nightly routine consisted of, or, in general, how he chose to spend his evenings, most of which were in utter seclusion. Whilst this wasn't much of a surprise to Tauriel to learn about him, it _did _cause her greater concern as the nights wore on.

Having been assigned to the evening and overnight shift, Tauriel grew particularly worried not only with how the king closed himself off from his subjects but also the amount of wine he consumed on a regular basis. Normally, at least two glasses were requested with dinner, followed by the rest of a bottle in his study or the library, and King Thranduil nearly always ordered a second or even third bottle before retiring for the night.

Tauriel had been half tempted many a time to address this concern with the other personal guards, but since she wasn't on good footing with them either—having been a 'betrayer' and all—that left her to stew over the matter for herself alone. Suggesting that the king 'lay off' his wine intake would surely only serve to get her fired, if not banished all over again, so Tauriel kept her mouth shut.

At first.

By her second week on staff, however, Tauriel was practically gnawing at the bit. Not only was the king looking worse for the wear by the day but the more he drank the more abrasive and upset he became.

One evening pushed Tauriel to the brink. On this particular night, King Thranduil gave explicit instructions to the second guard on watch to not allow anyone to disrupt him "under any circumstances". It wasn't an usual command, though, and the guard took his spot just outside the study's doors as usual, leaving Tauriel to watch the interior. The king, who had sought refuge in his personal study following his evening meal, acted more agitated than usual, snarling on occasion at whatever book or written correspondence he held in his hands or cursing over the "splitting headache" he had been nursing for several hours straight.

Tauriel had thought about suggesting that he seek some relief from a healer but forced herself not to speak out of turn—for the time being. She suspected that the second bottle of wine King Thranduil had started on since dinner wasn't likely alleviating his headache _or_ elevating his mood, for that matter. Still, she remained tight-lipped.

After dowsing the second bottle of wine in what had to be record timing, however, Tauriel had grown wary of her ability to keep from taking action, especially as King Thranduil proceeded to glare at her once he was through—his eyes bloodshot and horribly venomous—and demand in a threatening, hushed tone, "I require more wine," to which Tauriel visibly hesitated.

At the Elleth's seeming refusal to jump to fulfil his command, King Thranduil's upper lip curled backward in outrage. "Did you hear me?" he whispered, his voice rich with intimidation. "I said, _more wine_."

This time, Tauriel sprung to life, but she didn't scurry out of the room to see to the drunken king's request as he expected her to. Instead, she stalked to the large desk where he sat slumped forward in his chair, ripped the empty bottle from his hand, and stared him down in that same disgusted manner she had that fateful day before the Lonely Mountain.

"_No._"

King Thranduil made a slight tilt of his head, the wave of shock that washed over his tight expression dissipating as swiftly as it occurred. "What was that?" he demanded with a clenched jaw. His cheeks, she noted, had taken on more vibrancy.

Tauriel twitched but held her ground. "Don't you think you've had enough, my Lord?" she pleaded as sensibly as possible, but the blue eyes glaring up at her, which then flashed with suppressed rage, informed the bold redhead that she had been sorely mistaken in trying to reason with him.

"Who are _you _to tell your king what is enough?"

"As one of your personal guards who's concerned for your welfare—"

"My _welfare_?" King Thranduil interrupted Tauriel with short, bitter laughter. "Since when have_ I _ever been a concern of _yours_?"

In that moment, Tauriel's face fell, the loss of fire in her stance apparent as she imploringly searched the king's face. He looked flushed and grim and not at all the grand, stately Elven ruler she had long grown up respecting and admiring. The grave change in his appearance was both agonising and disconcerting to gaze upon, and at such a close proximity. Her next words were equally soul-crushing and despondent.

"Hîr vuin," she whispered, her eyes turning sad and forlorn, "drinking yourself to the point of excess won't bring your son back..."

The silence that hovered in the air was tense, prickly, and put Tauriel on edge, so much so that she wasn't aware of clasping the handle of the wine bottle so tightly that it started to crack. Yes, she had just spoken way out of turn—and hit upon a nerve judging by the offence that manifested in King Thranduil's face—but Tauriel tried not to cower in the face of his oncoming wrath. He shot out of his chair with such fluid and grace that another might have thought him perfectly sober and in his right frame of mind; Tauriel knew better.

"_How dare you_," he hissed rather than shouted, and the lit torches that hung on the walls around his study began to flicker.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel tried again, this time with desperation rather than calmness, "if you could only _see_ how detrimental you're—"

"_Get out._"

With that baleful, parting command, the lights around the room ceased flickering, though Tauriel and King Thranduil remained facing one another, the ruler's desk providing a safe barrier between them.

Slowly, Tauriel inched back, though her eyes remained locked on his. "I shall send for a healer to help with your headache, hîr vuin."

King Thranduil sneered, still heavily affronted by her earlier remark. "You shall do no such thing—"

"If you are indeed suffering, my Lord, then it is my duty, as one of your personal guards, to see that you are well-attended to in my absence."

Whatever ire loomed beneath the surface of King Thranduil's hard expression, it deflated a bit with the Elleth's persistence. It was only once she turned away from him that he sunk back into his chair, her hard-hitting words from moments ago coursing through his veins like dragon fire.

'It won't bring your son back.'

'It won't bring your son back.'

_'It won't bring your son back.'_

King Thranduil waited for the oak doors to quietly shut behind Tauriel's retreating silhouette. Then he bowed his head low, pressed a hand to his brow, and smothered what was either a quiet sob or a broken curse behind his curtain of long blond hair.

* * *

"_What did I tell you_?"

"I said nothing that wasn't warranted, Firverior."

"Have you gone _mad_, Tauriel?" her friend barked, staring at Tauriel as though she had sprouted an extra pair of pointy ears. "There's very little that warrants _anyone _berating the king like that!"

"I didn't berate him! I was acting in his best interest!"

"Whatever _we_ feel is in King Thranduil's 'best interest' is _not_ for us to speak on!"

"So, we should all continue to indulge our king in whichever method he chooses to destroy himself?"

"Tauriel—"

"_No_, Firverior," she snarled and held up a hand to stop him from speaking, "the king hired me to be one of his personal guards. Part of that job entails aiding the king in whatever way is best for _him_. I refuse to believe we should all go on as collective appeasers and pander to the king's every calamitous will and whim!"

"Tauriel, have you any idea what that sounds like?"

"Yes, I _do_! We're dealing with a king who's not only intent on evading his responsibilities as our sovereign but also capable of bringing Darkness upon us all, if we don't push him to act, and soon! He has no respect for his own immortality anymore, Firverior, and that's not only dangerous to him but to the rest of us! Can you not _see_? He needs our help!"

Firverior adamantly shook his head, however. "I believe in my king, Tauriel." His emerald irises suddenly darkened as they bore into hers. "Even if you don't...and never have."

Tauriel was brought up short by that harsh statement. She blinked, opened her mouth to reply, but shut it instead, flummoxed and at a loss. Firverior ended their discussion then and there by twirling around and taking off in the opposite direction, leaving Tauriel to frown after his withdrawing figure as he disappeared around a corner. She had wanted to contend that she _did_, in fact, still have faith in King Thranduil.

_Why would Firverior think I've never believed in him?_ She started in her tracks, another thought suddenly dawning on her. _Perhaps all King Thranduil needs, aside from a kick in the head, is for _me _to show him that I still have faith in him yet?_

_Probably wishful thinking_, she determined a moment later, _and yet, it's a start, is it not?_

* * *

"Has the king come out today?"

"No, my lady," answered her fellow guard, whom she had come to relieve for the night.

Tauriel shot the doors to King Thranduil's bedroom a puzzled look over. Surely, the king's lack of an appearance over the past two days couldn't all be _her_ doing, could it?

There was much growing concern surrounding the ruler's absence. No one had been able to reach him since two days prior when he had dismissed Tauriel for the night. He had retired to his bedroom, foregoing his usual request for another bottle of wine. Despite many attempts by various staff members to reach him since, King Thranduil had yet to answer anyone's requests for an audience. He even refused meals that were left at his doorstep.

At this point, Tauriel was becoming agitated. She had been tempted a handful of times over the past forty-eight hours to kick the king's door down, if only to receive his brittle response on the other end. At least she and their people would then be assured that their king was, in fact, all right, if just in a detached sort of mood. Tauriel forced a stiff upper lip and stood watch outside his bedroom door without giving into the temptation so far, but this was going on a third night now without any word.

_Could what I have said affected him _that_ greatly? _

_Surely not! You saw how he responded. He was furious but not changed by it. _

_But...what if this is all my fault?_

_You and your damned inability to keep quiet, Tauriel!_

It was halfway through the night, with Tauriel deep in her emotional turmoil over how best to approach this problem, when the second guard who was standing guard alongside her, a younger Elf named Daeron, interrupted her thoughts.

"Tauriel?"

"What?" she returned, startling despite her normally sharp hearing.

Daeron's expression was curious but not distressed as he inquired, "Did you hear that?"

Tauriel's ears perked up, alerting to a muffled scuffling and what sounded like moaning coming from inside King Thranduil's room. She nodded and braced a hand against the door.

"_No_!" Daeron gaped at the brazen Elleth. "We're not to disturb the king unless we believe he's in trouble!"

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. "And this doesn't warrant a disturbance?"

"It only sounds like a dream."

"Or a nightmare," Tauriel corrected as she pressed an ear to the wooden frame.

A moment later, King Thranduil's voice rang out in the darkness—loud, clear, and ear-splitting—and Tauriel jolted back from the door at once. She didn't hesitate to knock.

"Hîr vuin?"

"Tauriel, _don't_," Daeron warned, but she ignored her fellow guard and knocked harder.

"_Hîr vuin_?"

There was no answer, though Tauriel thought she detected a faint noise, like another feeble moan or a cry, followed by more eerie silence. A bad feeling settled in the pit of Tauriel's stomach and, acting on instinct, she grabbed the latch and tried to pull, but the doors wouldn't give. They had apparently been locked from the inside.

_Why would he lock himself in?_

The king _never_ locked his doors for the simple fact that he could be summoned at any moment—day or night—or, gods forbid, find himself in need of assistance. To Tauriel, this was another tremendous worry that put her senses on high alert.

Despite Daeron's insistence that she cease pounding on the doors, Tauriel viciously knocked and struggled to open them. Finally, with her nerves having been shot to hell, Tauriel gave up and used the adjoining wall to her right to climb, launch her feet from, and kick the heavy doors open. They burst apart, slamming against the inside walls, much to Daeron's horror.

Tauriel rushed in, prompting her skittish colleague to follow at her heel. They made for the king's four-poster bed feet away, expecting to find him sitting up against his pillows and looking cross or, even less likely, still asleep. Neither was the case, and both were left shocked by what they discovered.

A wide awake King Thranduil sat huddled on the floor by the foot of his bed, his long, lean arms locked around his knees which were pressed to his chest. He rocked back and forth without pause, his eyes staring blankly ahead of him at nothing in particular, almost as though he were in some sort of trance. He made a feeble noise but otherwise didn't appear to know two of his personal guards had just barged in on him.

Daeron froze, but Tauriel cautiously approached the king. "Hîr vuin?" she called to him, scanning his withdrawn, hunched stature with worry.

King Thranduil didn't so much as blink or acknowledge Tauriel's presence, not even once she stood directly in front of him and crouched down to be at eye level. She nearly fell back onto her rear at the glazed, clouded stare that greeted her eyes. The king looked straight through her as if she wasn't there, his blue irises, once bright and piercing in their regard, now seemingly beyond her reach.

Tauriel recognised all the symptoms: the persistent rocking, the hazy stare, the lack of awareness regarding his surroundings. _Substance abuse_, she concluded, feeling her heart both sink and beat faster inside her chest.

It was rare for an Elf to develop an addiction, but all the king's signs pointed to it, and, so, Tauriel hesitantly raised a hand to King Thranduil's stone-like face, wishing to draw him out of his madness and suffering, though he didn't shrink or react to her approaching hand.

"_Tauriel_!" Daeron exclaimed, horrified that the Elleth would so much as think about touching the king without his consent.

Tauriel started at her colleague's outburst but then, with fierce determination, defied his warning again and ran a hand over King Thranduil's left cheek. His skin was smooth under her touch, like the finest porcelain, but, again, there came no glimmer of recognition.

"Hîr vuin?" she tried once more, her voice rising in urgency the longer he stared through her, unblinking. "Hîr vuin, are you all right? It - It's Tauriel. Can you hear me? _Hîr vuin_!"

At last, a near shout from her garnered a delayed response. King Thranduil blinked a few times and shuddered, his fuzzy eyes drawing back into focus—somewhat. Even then, he still didn't look at all like himself. His complexion, already considerably pale, was ghostly, and, though he appeared to have recognised his former Captain of the Guard crouching down in front of him, he started all the same, as if he was seeing the redhead for the first time.

"I... I need..." he started in a hoarse, drained whisper; he turned his head slightly to acknowledge Daeron's presence as well.

"_Yes_?" Tauriel pressed, inching closer.

"W - Wine," he finally stammered and licked his dry, blue-tinted lips. "Bring...me...wine..."

Daeron immediately started for the door, but Tauriel called him back. "No!" she shouted and Daeron abruptly turned, confused and then shocked to discover Tauriel now cradling the king's face with both hands. "Hîr vuin, you need us to send for the healers. You're not well."

"_W - Wine_!" he insisted, though weakly.

"Wine has made you ill, my Lord. I cannot allow that request."

"_C - C - Curse you_!" the king snarled, his demeanour changing on a whim.

King Thranduil made a dramatic sweep of his arms in an attempt to drive Tauriel off, but his efforts only served to send him onto his side, his trembling arms unable to support his weight. Luckily, Tauriel was quick to catch him around the waist, thereby preventing the king's face from colliding with the floor.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel urged as gently as possible; the king's tresses, uncharacteristically messy, hid his face from view as she sought to look at him, "_please_! Let me send for the healers—"

"_NO_!"

Although his cutting answer jolted her, Tauriel recovered and scooted closer to him, unafraid. "You _must_ let us help you—"

"NO! _W - W - WINE!_ BRING M - ME SO - SOME RELIEF!"

"That won't bring you relief, my Lord. It will only make you worse—"

"_DO AS YOU - YOU'RE TOLD, YOU WRE - WRETCHED SHE - SHE-ELF_!"

Determined to ignore King Thranduil's growing hostility, Tauriel turned to Daeron and coaxed him to send for the healers at once. The timid guard dawdled a moment, clearly apprehensive about disobeying his king's commands, belligerent as they were. Evidently, he concluded that King Thranduil's poor condition justified a means of defiance this one time and took off down the hall, leaving Tauriel to fend for herself.

It seemed like an age that she and the king were left alone in each other's company, though Tauriel wasn't as fazed by that as the gut-wrenching sight of the disoriented, indisposed Elven ruler trembling in her arms, who, through pain-staking, self-destructive efforts, had rendered himself weak and mostly incoherent.

Eventually, King Thranduil tired of warring with Tauriel, but his body refused to cease rocking or shaking. He leaned into Tauriel for support, and she settled in next to him without a gripe or ill word. She watched the sore Elf's features contort in agony, his animated expression of pain unrecognisable. He twisted and flinched under her watchful eye, his breathing strained and extreme, as they awaited the coming of the healers over the next crucial moments.

Although Tauriel had heard of the long-term effects addiction could have on an Elf's immortality, she had never witnessed one of her own people suffer like this, only this was no ordinary kinsman or kinswoman of hers; this was her king.

Tauriel found herself torn, helpless to aid King Thranduil in his hour of need, and yet, disheartened at how far gone the king was in his bleak determination to end his own life. She was both enraged and heartbroken, deeply saddened and appalled.

_Can you blame him, Tauriel? Were you not content to die not too long ago?_

Tauriel shook that disturbing thought from her mind and tightened her grip. One of her arms had wound up wrapped around the king's back, the opposite around his front, in a protective sort of embrace. King Thranduil had since gone quiet, but his dazed eyes still stared into hers, their unspoken plea for relief trying on Tauriel's fortitude to do what was best for him.

"The healers will be here soon," she whispered repeatedly; the act of speaking was somehow becoming more of a challenge, however. "Hold on, hîr vuin. _Hold on_..."

Finally, three able-body healers arrived on the scene, followed closely by Daeron and several concerned council members, including Lathron, all of whom converged in the doorway watching as Tauriel and the healers helped a convulsing King Thranduil back to his bed. Inwardly, Tauriel was stewing and grateful the king wasn't in his right state of mind; he surely wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him like this, let alone a handful of his closest associates.

Thankfully, the healers seemed to be on the same page as the infuriated Elleth and soon shooed everyone out of the room. Tauriel hesitated to leave, however. Wasn't it her duty to stay and attend to her king?

Evidently, the healers wouldn't have her additional services and pushed Tauriel out of the way to get to King Thranduil's side, but not before Tauriel peered down at the Elf before they had forced her out. For a split second, she thought she detected another nonverbal message in the king's suffering gaze: an unsaid but unambiguous 'thank you' for coming to his aid at such speed; for barging down his door in order to reach him; for defying what was protocol to check that he was all right.

Then again, perhaps Tauriel had analysed that look of his in error, for, as soon as that soft communication appeared, the foggy gaze resumed, and King Thranduil shut his eyes to her at last, turning away in bed as he did so. Tauriel half reached for the king's hand but then thought better of it. She left the healers to do their work but lingered outside King Thranduil's bedroom until dawn, completely forgetting about her dismissal until the next guard on duty finally insisted that she take her leave.

With great reluctance, and too wired for sleep, Tauriel made her way back to her own quarters at a snail's pace, with that horrible visual of King Thranduil's suffering still fresh in her mind.

_You should've spoken up sooner, Tauriel... You should've barged through that door the first night the king didn't come out... You should've taken that damned wine away from him on your first evening on the job..._

The guilt was overpowering, so heavy and burdensome that, upon her return, Tauriel collapsed at the foot of her bed, her shame-filled eyes tilted towards the floor.

_I failed to stop Kíli from being killed... _

_I failed to mend Legolas's heart after unintentionally breaking it... _

_And since my return to Mirkwood, I've failed to protect my king...from himself_.

Tauriel wrung her hands together uselessly in her lap. _You stand corrected, Tauriel. King Thranduil _should_ find you the disappointment that you've turned out to be..._

* * *

Tauriel didn't sleep much that morning or the next several in a row whilst King Thranduil remained bedridden and unwell. No one was permitted to see him, only the healers, and there was much debate amongst the people as to whether his condition was serious enough to send for the Prince or to not go against what the king would have deemed forbidden.

Tauriel had her own ideas for how best to handle this messy affair. The abominable manner in which she had discovered him—isolated, helpless, and grossly ill from his slow self-destruction—had lit a new fire in the Elleth's soul.

No one was beyond hope, she concluded after much reflection, not even the king, and she prayed that, going forward, she might serve the king far better by speaking her mind and speaking often. If he despised her for doing so then so be it.

_You cannot fail him again. You_ won't _fail him again._

* * *

On King Thranduil's third day of treatment, Tauriel pushed her luck and entered his bedroom without permission. She was somewhat surprised to encounter the king not only wide awake but propped up in bed against several pillows, munching on food but clearly not taking much in by the way he moved his fork around.

He peered up from his breakfast at the intrusion to his solitude but the healers turned on their unwanted guest immediately, going on the defence and insisting that she "not disturb the king".

Tauriel wouldn't be deterred, however, and spoke above the fray that greeted her. "I only wish to speak with his Lordship, if he'll permit me a few minutes of his time? Preferably alone?"

The healers reluctantly turned to their patient for guidance. King Thranduil gave an obvious, unappreciative glare towards his former captain but, with a wave of his hand, quietly dismissed the healers, each of whom made a point of staring Tauriel down disapprovingly before they left.

By the time the doors had closed and Tauriel was, at last, alone with her king, the abrupt alteration to his expression was worrisome. He suddenly appeared deflated rather than on the mend, tired, and refused to look her in the eyes.

With his jaw set tight, King Thranduil finally asked softly, "What do you want?"

"I..." Tauriel took a small step closer to the bed, dismayed that he really didn't look much improved from the last time she saw him. "How are you, hîr vuin?"

King Thranduil kept his eyes on his mostly unconsumed platter. "Fine," was all he provided after a pregnant pause.

"I'd hoped...we might talk..."

This time, King Thranduil raised his head, and the few smooth lines etched along his eyes and mouth conveyed his resignation. "Well?" he tried to offer bitingly, but it came out flat and fatigued. "You have my attention, Tauriel."

Understanding that his tone was an invitation rather than a warning, Tauriel swallowed her uncertainty and approached the king's side of the bed, bowing her head low as she reached him. Something akin to trepidation loomed in those normally cold, hard eyes of his, giving Tauriel pause. It was only during her most recent encounters with the headstrong Elven ruler that she had witnessed him in any way vulnerable or distressed, and that alone made her determination braver as she sought to reach out to one of her kin in need.

_Even kings_, she reminded herself on her way to King Thranduil's bedchamber that morning, _need a helping hand sometimes._

"Let me help you," she blurted out, pleaded, her voice pained and subdued.

A series of emotions glinted across those guarded eyes that usually withheld so much—misery, resentment, panic, hopelessness—and, before Tauriel realised the boundary she had overstepped, she was sitting on the edge of King Thranduil's bed, her hand itching to take his. The thought occurred to her and then disappeared, though it must have been readable in her expression, for King Thranduil broke eye contact to peer down at the strange hand half extended towards him. He blinked a couple times, as though he were examining a curious foreign object from a distant land, and then, to Tauriel's utter surprise, his larger hand—warm, yet strong—covered hers. Tauriel went rigid, her heart rate accelerating and her breath stalling.

"You cannot help me."

_That_ despairing remark forced a reaction. Tauriel squeezed the king's hand, though without prior consideration.

"Please... Let me _try_."

King Thranduil studied his former captain, his face pensive, seemingly dithering between dismissal and defeat. After a moment, he simply lowered his eyes, choosing instead to examine their intertwined hands rather than stare into the face of the Elleth who had pulled back the veil on one of his deepest, darkest secrets and laid it bare before them both.

Tauriel didn't require an answer. Even an outright rejection from the king wouldn't have persuaded her to turn away and wipe her hands clean.

In another bold move, though she hadn't actually given her actions a second thought, Tauriel reached out with her free hand to lightly squeeze King Thranduil's shoulder. He didn't start or recoil at the gesture but continued staring at their clasped hands, numb and unmoving and...terrified.

"This food doesn't look too appetising." She gestured towards his colourless platter, her critical frown soon replaced by an encouraging smile she hoped might perk him up. "I'll ask the healers to bring you something else; something with actual _taste_, yes?"

Slowly, King Thranduil gave the slightest nod of approval, though he remained silent and still. Tauriel pressed his hand again, this time out of respect.

_It's a start._

* * *

**A/N #2: ****...Review (_pretty please_)?**


	7. Karn Aduamin (Mirror Image)

**A/N: ...Hi! Remember me?  
**

**My apologies for the long delay in updating. Real life has been a bit crazy, and writing has been very slow-moving over the past month. Hopefully it will pick up, but I can't make any promises.  
**

**Another HUGE thank you to all of you lovely followers and reviewers! Your continued support and enthusiasm of this little story means an awful lot to me. I hope you enjoy the latest installment._  
_**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Karn Aduamin (Mirror Image)**

* * *

Thranduil wished he could take it back. For the life of him, he had been waking daily to regret such an unfortunate occurrence since it happened. Knowing his track record for forgiving and forgetting was slim to none, he suspected he would likely be nursing this latest wound for many centuries to come.

_If you live that long..._

The highly private sovereign, having isolated himself in his bedroom days before, had tried to combat his demons alone—to treat his sickness on his own terms, fully aware of the risks involved in not reaching out for help—and, now, he was paying regrettably for what could only be described as a 'severe lapse in judgement' rather than one of his finer decisions in life.

Tauriel—that bold, brash, and formerly banished Elleth—who had been quite the thorn in Thranduil's side, particularly as of late, had seen it all. _She_ had been the one to discover him on the floor rocking and trembling, dazed and sick from his long-standing addiction, attempting to wane off its detrimental effects by his lonesome.

_Of all the Elves in Middle-earth it had to _her_!_

Stricken and crippled by the detrimental disease, Thranduil had been too weak to fend Tauriel off; to cut her down with a sharp look or biting words and thereby get her to leave him to his personal Hell. Instead, he had sunk against her, in need of anchorage. His former Captain of the Guard, in turn, had exercised immense patience with him, even as he continued lashing out at her for stepping in to help.

Thranduil hadn't asked for anyone's intervention on his behalf. He _never_ allowed others into his personal affairs, either. Not even Legolas was permitted to see the debilitated side to his father; the broken, despairing part of him still mourning the loss of a wife who would never return. He hadn't wanted anyone to discover him in such a vulnerable state as had been the case the other night. His hope had been to withdrawal and emerge days later with a clearer head and, perhaps, a keener focus for all the kingly matters that deserved his attention.

_Instead, I've let everyone down._ Thranduil cringed as he peered up at the ceiling, where he presently lounged in his four-poster bed, alone. _What would your son think of the pathetic excuse for a sovereign you've become in his absence? What would Vanya think if she was here to witness your self-destruction?_

_They're not here. And they're not ever coming back._

Thranduil inhaled a deep breath, wishing to calm his reeling thoughts. He turned his attention towards an open window that let in a cool breeze from the South. The wind felt icy and angry against his exposed skin, however, forcing him to pull the sheets up to his neck.

_'It won't bring your son back.'_

Damn that Tauriel. Her words _still_ struck him like a severe blow to the chest. Did she know how deeply her words stung him?

Thranduil certainly hoped not. He didn't like having someone—_A traitor at that!_—holding sway over his moods and thoughts. He directed his heavy-lidded eyes towards the ceiling once again, desperate for a peek at the stars, though he would find no such comforts in this shadow of a place.

_Damn her._

Word of his unstable condition surely would have reached many of his kin by now, if not other kingdoms beyond these woods. Whether personal or public in nature, gossip travelled fast in these parts. Thranduil could only put trust in his advisers and council members to shut down any damaging hearsay that might be filtering through the realm. The last thing the Elven king—or any of his people, for that matter—needed was to be viewed by their enemies as weaklings, with a ruler at their head who was emotionally 'unfit' to rule.

_The first Elven king incapable of governing with a clear conscience because his fragile mind has been lost to the bottom of a bottle!_

Thranduil's hands unconsciously fisted the bedsheets. His active mind had been wrecking havoc on his sleep the past several nights, keeping him awake often until the first light of dawn. Whatever the healers were administering hadn't much calmed his turbulent thoughts; not that Thranduil was surprised. He could only hope he would remain quiet enough when he _did_ fall asleep that that one-time captain of his wouldn't come kicking down his door a second time.

_Why? Why, in all of heaven, did it have to be_ her_?_

* * *

The first few days following Tauriel's harrowing discovery of an ailing and helpless King Thranduil had been unnaturally quiet—for the most part. Although she had come and gone every night like usual, performing her duties and inquiring after the king's health to the healers whenever possible, she had been dismayed by how the rest of her people generally treated the delicate matter of their sovereign's condition.

Most were guarded and quiet over his absence, whispering amongst themselves as to the level and severity of King Thranduil's 'illness', some even questioning whether his addiction was, in fact, real or imaginary. Others, such as Firverior, rejected the king's problem entirely.

"You've disliked him for ages, Tauriel!" the once friendly guard snapped at her one evening as she made her way to King Thranduil's quarters to start her shift; she had unexpectedly run into the heated Elf on her way there and had been shaken by the accusations he laid before her. "You're prejudice and headstrong and determined to make our king out to be the fool! Admit it!"

"Firverior, how could you think—"

"When will you ever learn your place?"

Tauriel rattled at that, too affected—at first—to fire off a proper retort. "This has nothing to do about 'my place', Firverior," she finally responded in a hushed voice, determined to keep all emotion out of their disagreement. "I can't help you to see what your eyes refuse to acknowledge. Our king is sick—_very_ sick—and he needs our help."

"He was perfectly fine until _you_ decided to intervene and stand in his way!"

Tauriel reared back. "You told me yourself shortly after I arrived that he hasn't been the same since Prince Legolas left."

"That's beside the point!" Firverior countered in a loud huff.

Tauriel strained to maintain her cool. "I've explained why I did what I did—"

"That doesn't make your actions excusable!"

"You're right, it doesn't. I've simply wanted to help."

"By barging into his room unannounced and without warrant? _Have you lost your mind, Tauriel_?"

"And what if I hadn't gone in?" Tauriel, at last, fought back, rounding on Firverior by stepping forward and pushing on the breast of his armour, though she was several inches shorter and didn't have much impact. "Our king might have been beyond anyone's reach by now if _I_ had simply done as _you_ and others have always resorted to: sitting back and doing _nothing_!"

That was as far as Tauriel was able to sway the argument. Firverior tore past her without a parting word, staring her down in the most vicious manner he could.

In turning away from the Elf's retreating footsteps, Tauriel feared she may have just lost the one friend she still had in all of Mirkwood, and the possibility twisted her stomach as she shakily continued on to her post.

Why on earth was no one understanding her actions? Hadn't she, in fact, _saved_ their king from the unthinkable: immortal sorrow and eventual death?

The healers had been dismissive and cold whenever Tauriel appeared to check on King Thranduil since she first found him, whilst nearly everyone else went about their business ignoring the Elleth's presence like usual, though, rather than not making eye contact, they now stared her down openly, some with suspicion and others with uncertainty.

Even Tauriel's fellow personal guards were quieter than the norm. She concluded that they either thought her barking mad for overstepping her bounds or some kind of attention seeker, neither of wish boded well for her already poor track record as a disturber of the peace.

_So be it. It_ was _the right thing to do!_

Tauriel let out an aggravated sigh as she approached the enormous, intricately carved oak doors that led to King Thranduil's personal quarters, though the sight of Daeron standing at attention outside took her by surprise. The Elf hadn't said much since they had both left their post to see to the king several nights ago, and, tonight, he didn't so much as meet her gaze or offer a curt nod of acknowledgement to her presence. Whatever was to be Tauriel's instructions for the evening, she would evidently have to find out for herself, for Daeron was tight-lipped and refused to speak.

Rolling her eyes, Tauriel bypassed her resistant colleague and stepped inside the king's bedroom, where she found him laying in bed and being attended to by three of his healers, all of whom silently worked over him whilst he stared at the ceiling, not flexing or moving his lips. His face was grim and set in a hard frown, though his complexion had improved since Tauriel saw him last. She took that as an encouraging sign.

The king didn't glance towards Tauriel as she entered his bedroom. Judging by his withdrawn demeanour, she suspected he wasn't much enjoying any of the attention that had been put on him and his health as of late, nor comfortable with people coming and going from his private bedroom.

Tauriel settled into a corner of the room where she would remain out of the way and watched as the healers continued their work. After several minutes passed, King Thranduil made a flourish of his hand, excusing them without a word. They bowed respectfully to their king and left, each pausing to pin Tauriel with a sneer or a disagreeable look as they left their patient in her care.

Tauriel, having grown immune to such antagonism, simply kept her expression neutral and focused on King Thranduil. Perhaps, with time, her people would simply lose interest in resenting her and find another subject to direct their unnecessary spite and disapproval.

"Why are you here?" King Thranduil asked of her once they were alone.

His voice sounded hoarse but soft, causing Tauriel to blink hard. They hadn't spoken or had much of any contact since her initial visit to see him that morning following the discovery of his illness. Since that day, Tauriel had been mostly ordered by the healers to either run errands or to stand guard outside his chambers. It was strange to hear the king speak, for that normally rich and commanding voice, which he carried with such arrest, now sounded strange, shattered and weary. His eyes remained transfixed on the painted ceiling above.

"I'm here to perform my duties as instructed by the healers, hîr vuin," Tauriel answered, placing her hands behind her back, ready to go on the defence should she find King Thranduil in an argumentative mood.

"Not by _my_ orders, you're not," he softly corrected her.

There was little feeling to be detected to his tone, so Tauriel relaxed her shoulders. "No...I'm not."

Tauriel eyed him over carefully, wanting to gauge how he might be feeling, but the king refused to look at her. She reckoned he wasn't thrilled by the healers' insistence that he have a personal guard on staff _inside_ his bedroom at night whilst he slept; he had never allowed it in the past. That idea had been implemented days ago, though, when he was too fatigued to speak much or bark orders at them.

Tonight, the duty of standing guard had fallen to Tauriel, and, though cool about it, she could only surmise King Thranduil wasn't nearly as composed about having her here as he put out. His expression was difficult to read.

Slowly, King Thranduil, at last, turned his head and those once crystal blue irises looked dull and lifeless as they bore a long, suffering glance into hers. Tauriel swallowed hard.

"I shan't rephrase the question," he whispered, holding her hostage with such a morbid stare. "Why are you still here?"

Struck by the question put to her a second time, and concerned by its underlying poignancy, Tauriel mindlessly stepped closer to his bed. The downward spiral the king had been on—in silence—for such a long time was disconcerting as it was, but hearing the fresh defeat in his cracked voice made it trying to not react too strongly. Tauriel had hoped—and, evidently, been under the misapprehension—that the healers were _helping_ the king, not making matters worse. He sounded depressed, drained...

_Devoid of hope._

With her face now sketched in delicate, worried lines, Tauriel posed a different question rather than provide him with an answer, "Why would I leave, hîr vuin?"

King Thranduil's stoic expression didn't falter, however. "Why _wouldn't_ you leave?" he countered back; the inquiry was simple, yet stern. "Any sensible individual would have turned their back on this place after..." He paused before reluctantly resuming his thought. "After witnessing what you saw..."

Without awareness, Tauriel took another two steps closer to the Elven king. His regard of her was steely, dire, as she surveyed his face. There was so much pain and suffering carefully concealed behind that mask of indifference that Tauriel desired to unravel—_And undo!_—but how? If she pushed him too fast or too hard, she would lose whatever shrivel of trust she still maintained, so Tauriel tried to hold back the want to physically reach out, though it wasn't without tremendous difficulty.

"A sensible individual doesn't turn away from someone in need."

After a short lapse in this conversation of few words, and with the consoling evidence of a slight, warm smile being projected by Tauriel, King Thranduil pressed quietly, "Even if that someone is your king?"

"_Especially_ if that someone is my king."

He started to open his mouth but wound up pressing his lips together instead, both desperate and reluctant to reach out; to follow Tauriel's open compassion and consideration for his welfare with a proper response. Whether his words may be polite or brusque of tongue, King Thranduil evidently was incapable of choosing or acting upon his feelings at that moment.

Perhaps, Tauriel determined as she watched his silent struggle, he didn't know how; but that was something the determined Elleth already intended to help him achieve. _If he'll allow me to get close enough..._

A long and heavy pause stretched between the two, neither one able to turn away from the other, until the king finally broke the silence with a quiet grunt. He shifted about in bed, turning onto his side facing her.

"I'd like to sleep now."

Tauriel stepped back and bowed in understanding. "Of course, hîr vuin." As she started to turn around and return to her post in the corner, however, King Thranduil called out to her unexpectedly.

"Will you... Will you be staying then?"

Tauriel half turned her head and, slowly, she stretched her smile a little farther across her cheeks. "I'm afraid so, hîr vuin. That's my duty for this evening."

Tauriel couldn't discern from King Thranduil's reaction whether he was relieved or displeased by this. Whatever he felt, he kept it well hidden, tucked away behind that mask of stone; stone as solid and unyielding as the walls of his kingdom.

"That isn't your duty...as far as I'm concerned."

"This is true, my Lord, but—"

"You're going to stay anyway?"

There was a mixture of acceptance and discomfort to that residual question. Tauriel nodded accordingly, maintaining her gentle smile a moment longer in the hopes that it might ease some of the discomfort.

King Thranduil said no more, though. He rolled onto his opposite side with his back to her, shortly thereafter falling into an uneven sleep; or, so, Tauriel assumed. He never veered from that sideways position or made a noise for the rest of the night, and neither spoke again until the early morning when Tauriel left her post to order breakfast, this time for two.

_Well..._that_'s certainly a shocking development_, she concluded as she made her way towards the kitchens.

Upon waking, King Thranduil had insisted rather grouchily that Tauriel "order something for herself", too, after having stood on her feet all night "doing nothing but watching me sleep".

Tauriel smirked to herself. _I may actually get somewhere with him...if the Valar finds me fortunate._

* * *

_"I cannot go back..."_

_The words were devastating, heart-crushing, though, somehow, through the hard-earned skills and long-standing practice of keeping his emotions under lock and key, Thranduil was able to keep himself from breaking. His only son was telling him none-too-kindly that he wouldn't be returning to Mirkwood—that he would be abandoning the realm of his noble birth—and the reality was excruciating to bear._

_"Where will you go?" he managed without a quiver in his voice._

_"I do not know."_

_'For how long?' Thranduil was most anxious to inquire, anguish and uncertainty tugging at his capacity not to forfeit composure for underlying desperation._

_'I must know where he'll be! I must be able to find him again!'_

_At the very least, Thranduil could hope Legolas would encounter someone he knew; someone tied to the cause his son now found himself wrapped up in: maintaining freedom and light in Middle-earth._

_If his son was determined to step into the unknown perils that lay ahead, perhaps it was best that he meet up with someone_ good_; someone whom Thranduil approved of, if only in name and through the trust-worthy word of Lord Elrond._

_Legolas silently acknowledged his father's suggestion that he seek out the 'ranger' he had mentioned. Then he gave a slight bow of his head and turned to leave the bloodied battleground upon which they stood. The chill in his child's eyes made Thranduil unsteady. He panicked._

_'Is that all?' Was that_ all _his son thought of him?_

_"Legolas," he called after the prince—his little leaf—his voice faint and threatening to give way; Legolas halted but didn't turn around to face his now stricken father, "your mother loved you... More than anyone... More than_ life_..."_

_Thranduil wasn't sure what had compelled him to mention Vanya. He hardly spoke of his late wife to anyone except himself, in the darkness and in the privacy of his own despairing heart. Yet, on this day, he stood apart from Legolas—a mere arm's length away—and thought of her in their parting; of how little he had imparted to their son over the centuries of how much of his mother he saw in him. And how greatly he loved that about him.  
_

_How enormous had been Vanya's sacrifice. The queen had loved both Elves enough to die in defence of them. Now, the child she had sacrificed herself for was so discouraged and disheartened with the only parent he had left that he was willing to rid himself of such a bond—that special tie they shared—perhaps forever._

_'Please... My son... Do not hate me for all time...'_

_Finally, Legolas half turned to Thranduil to convey a silent but heartfelt farewell, his arm outstretched to Thranduil in parting. Thranduil did likewise—praying against hope that Legolas might meet his gaze; that he might look upon him one last time—but Legolas refused. He stepped from the rubble and debris beneath Ravenhill's crumbling towers and into the light of day, disappearing from Thranduil's sight._

_'He hates me... He hates me... He hates me...'_

_Thranduil tried to hold back the overwhelming grief, issuing several calculated breaths to still his heavy heart. No, he wouldn't go after Legolas, though the urge was so very strong. He couldn't move; his feet were locked to this forsaken place. His son was no longer a child. 'He made his choice.' Whether Thranduil agreed or not was irrelevant. Legolas had chosen the world rather than his kingdom; the world over his kin; the world instead of his father._

_'He's gone...and he hates me...'_

_The reality of such loss shook Thranduil to his foundation. He turned away in haste, fighting the urge to succumb to tears; tears he was certain would never cease should he allow them to fall._

_Later, perhaps, he might slip away to whereabouts unknown to mourn; to grieve a loss so profound that the Light of the Valar might have been snuffed out all around him for all he knew, leaving him to wander aimlessly in shadow. He felt lost, and it no longer mattered whether he did right by himself or anyone else. He no longer had an heir; he no longer had a family and a love to call his own._

_Then, unexpectedly, Thranduil stumbled upon _her_. He had been dawdling around Ravenhill a short while, mindlessly walking, dazed and consumed, when he came upon a weeping Tauriel hovering over the lifeless body of Kíli, the fallen Dwarf Prince Under the Mountain. She didn't snap or lash out at encountering him, nor demand anything of Thranduil as she had during the battle. She simply raised her head and stared him in the eyes, tears streaming down her face—that delicate, exquisite face that had once been so pure—her eyes robbed of hope and promise and the notion of a brighter tomorrow._

_"They want to bury him," she choked out; Thranduil wondered if she even knew who he was._

_"Yes," he acknowledged, watching her closely._

_"If this is love, I do not want it." Tauriel raised her head higher, and her face turned distraught, desperate. "Take it from me," she beseeched him, and, though her bidding was contained, Thranduil was barely able to keep himself from shattering. "Please..."_

_Thranduil instinctively stepped closer, for how could he not be drawn to her sorrow? Her anguish mirrored his own. He _would_ have taken her heartache from her...if he was able. _

_Then again, who would take his own agony from him? Who now would take enough pity on a cold and heartless Elven king enough to allow him death?_

_Thranduil swallowed thickly and, though his eyes were misty, he didn't permit a single tear to fall. 'What good would it do?' he reminded himself. 'You've lost everything...and there's nothing to be done of it or to be solved with tears.'_

_"Why does it hurt so much?" Tauriel struggled to ask through her sobs, her open grief expressing what he could not._

_'I know,' Thranduil wanted to tell her, his mutual anguish clawing at his insides. 'I know your pain. I _do_. I know.'_

"Hîr vuin? _Hîr vuin_!"

King Thranduil startled awake. Someone had been calling to him in the recesses of his mind. For a fleeting moment, his fluttering heart wanted to believe it was his son. Unfortunately, the reality of his miserable existence came crashing down around him once he opened his eyes.

The fuzzy outline of flowing red hair and a pale face slowly came into focus in front of him, revealing the identity of a certain Elleth he recognised: _Tauriel._ She was suspended over him, filtering forth an Elven glow and warmth all her own as she stared down at her king with concern. It took King Thranduil a moment to comprehend that not only were they back in his bedroom instead of Ravenhill but also that Tauriel was grasping him by the shoulder.

"You were calling out in your sleep," she explained quietly, keeping her grip on him a moment longer whilst he came to his senses.

"It was nothing," he issued defensively, attempting to wane off whatever he had blurted out in his sleep; he secretly prayed Tauriel hadn't been able to make out a word of it.

Tauriel started and stopped saying whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Her fingers uncoiled from around the king's shoulder and she drew back to give him space, her concerned gaze unchanged.

Irritated (and humiliated beyond measure), King Thranduil couldn't prevent himself from snapping. "_What_?" he huffed as he made to sit up, not missing the twitch Tauriel's lips made.

"You were calling...for your son..."

King Thranduil went as still as a statue, unable, at first, to look away from the Elleth in his presence who had unearthed and disclosed another one of his unmended vulnerabilities: the crushing loss of Legolas. He was infuriated with himself for the memory that had brought on this awkward, undesired revelation of his, but he was also undeservedly vexed with Tauriel for being present to bear witness, and the reaction showed itself plainly in his expression. King Thranduil's hands fisted the bedsheets and his mouth drew into a fuming scowl.

Tauriel was the first to break eye contact. Uncertain as to what to say or do next, and understanding that the king was now nursing embarrassment _and_ anger with her, she staggered backward from the bed and swiftly lowered her eyes to the floor.

"You heard nothing," he whispered dangerously, his voice so low that Tauriel was hesitantly prompted to meet his gaze, enraged as it was.

"All right then, I heard nothing." She raised her chin in dissent, though her eyes remained kind and gentle. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it!" King Thranduil hissed and curled his upper lip, affronted. "There's nothing to discuss!"

With a small sigh, Tauriel nodded. "All right, if you insist, but I'm available to speak on anything that's troubling you, my Lord, should you change your mind."

King Thranduil turned his head sharply away from her, his long, blond hair disguising much of the scowl and inner turmoil he yearned to hide. When he refused to acknowledge her offer of help—or simply tell her off, for that matter—Tauriel found her innermost courage again and, with care, chanced approaching the tormented sovereign's bed again.

"For what it's worth, my Lord, I... I understand how debilitating grief, especially when combined with dreams, can be..." She paused as King Thranduil suddenly stole a brisk glance her way; it was difficult to decipher the emotions therein amongst the many shadows that covered his face, but Tauriel could have sworn she glimpsed a flash of tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she added sincerely, her words soft-spoken and heartfelt.

Tauriel had never seen her king cry before. She wasn't even sure if that was the case or just her mind playing tricks, but she suspected that no one had ever seen the Elven ruler teary-eyed, perhaps the exception being the prince.

King Thranduil eased himself onto his side with his back to Tauriel and silently burrowed himself further underneath the covers, unaware of the hand that half reached out to him from behind; a hand intent to offer him much-needed solace, even friendship, if he asked. He closed his eyes, shutting Tauriel out, and didn't speak again.

After several uninterrupted moments of quietude, Tauriel retreated to her spot across the room again, though King Thranduil's cries for his son moments ago were still fresh in her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck continued to stand on edge from hearing those earth-shattering, futile calls for the child the king considered lost to him forever. She had been shocked to have had to wake him, thinking his shouts would have been loud enough to wake him of his own accord; but, nevertheless, it seemed the right thing to do at the time.

After all, why should she stand by and allow her king to suffer through the bad memory that ailed him? She couldn't imagine another guard in her place watching complacently and not intervening. Then again, the longer she thought on that terrible prospect, the more grateful she was to have been put in this position rather than another.

_If no one will save him from himself, I have to, at the very least, continue to try_, Tauriel committed to herself whilst watching King Thranduil sleep, his side steadily rising and falling with every slow, slumbering breath.

_Perhaps that's why you came back here_, she pondered deeper as the night wore on._ Maybe you were meant to be of more use to the realm than you thought? Wouldn't that make everything you've been through worthwhile, if only this time you could actually _save_ someone...even the king?_

In the darkness, Tauriel fought back the sudden emotion that crawled up the back of her throat. Remembering how she had failed Kíli hadn't been what she had had in mind to contemplate tonight, and yet, how startling were the parallels between the fallen Dwarf and the near fallen king in her presence.

_You can't fail again, Tauriel. You_ won't_ fail your king as you did Kíli._

* * *

The former captain's thoughtful considerations could have been short-lived, for the following two nights Tauriel found herself shut out of the king's reach again and made to stand guard outside his bedroom. It would take more than a door, thick and intimidating as it was, to stop her efforts, however, and the third evening Tauriel found a bit of good fortunate on her side.

A colleague was already stationed outside the king's room when she arrived to begin her shift, and that left Tauriel to guard the interior. This particular evening, she found King Thranduil once again alone in his four-poster bed, seated upright with a handful of documents draped across his lap. He lowered a piece of parchment that was clasped in his hands to peer over at her as she entered his personal space, his mouth set in that same indifferent frown like before.

"Good evening, hîr vuin," she greeted him with a respectful bow of her head.

"Tauriel," he acknowledged nonchalantly and immediately resumed his attention on the piece of parchment in front of him.

Although disappointed to not receive more engagement, Tauriel took her spot in the corner without a sound, hoping that the king might address her again before too long. She eyed him intently for a while when it became clear that King Thranduil was too absorbed in whatever he was reading to pay her further mind. Those blue irises were grave, weighty, and mirrored the stress-filled brooding of her kin of late, herself included.

Tauriel, like her keen-sighted people, had been sensing for sometime the world's continued imbalance following the battle. Darkness continued to spread, though the nameless cause of so much potential devastation was troubling to think on. She had been wondering for days if the king was finally going to wake up to all the strife and concerns that required his attention.

Then again, like her, King Thranduil had his own demons and shortcomings to see to, not the least of which was his heinous coping condition used for so long to keep from dealing with heartache and grief.

An unexpected huff brought Tauriel back to her surroundings. King Thranduil had flung the parchment he had been reading aside, his arms falling to his sides like trapped anchors, and stared longingly out the window. He stared for so long that Tauriel was compelled to trace his gaze and move closer.

A faint glint of the night sky crept into the king's chambers, its soft light trickling across the floor and onto his sheets, but the moon and stars themselves could not be visualised from this spot. _How strange_, Tauriel wondered, befuddled. King Thranduil's quarters were known to have the most magnificent view of the night sky in all the kingdom, and yet, a labyrinth of thick trees and stone prevented anything of the sort from being appreciated. It was more like a prison, and the awareness caused the walls in her chest to tighten.

"You won't find them here," he murmured aloud, as if Tauriel wasn't there, echoing the sadness stretching within her heart.

When she turned to look upon her king, he was still staring out of the same window, bright irises clouded over. Yet a flicker of yearning peaked through their depths, a flash of a moment Tauriel didn't miss. She turned fully to face him, brow furrowed in empathy.

"When was the last time you saw the stars, hîr vuin?"

King Thranduil blinked as though recognising Tauriel's presence for the first time. "I..." He paused to draw a long, shuddering breath. "I can no longer say."

Tauriel inched closer, one hand itching to extend. "Would you like to see them again?"

The king stared deep into Tauriel's eyes, a newfound awareness passing to the surface, along with, if she dared to hope, a certain level of trust. "Yes," he confessed ever so softly, "I... I would..."

* * *

**A/N #2: To be continued...**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	8. Iston i nîf lîn (I know your face)

**A/N: I know it's been a while since I last updated, but, considering the feedback on this story has dwindled drastically since the last chapter was posted, I figured it's not a big deal...****_  
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**For those who _are_ still following along, I've finally figured out how I want to move this story forward, so here's an update for you at last! Thanks for sticking with me! **

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: ****Iston i nîf lîn (I know your face)**

* * *

In hindsight, Thranduil wasn't sure what had compelled him to accept Tauriel's hand a _second_ time. Was it the tiniest grain of hope she had instilled in him these past few emotionally charged days? He had glimpsed her half reaching to him a couple times after staring out his bedroom window, the dismay on her soft features prominent and heavily felt. He had reacted not as one would expect: by quietly accepting her token of...

Was it pity? Did she feel sorry for her king?

No, Thranduil couldn't—_wouldn't_—have allowed her to express such commiseration on his behalf, and he would have discerned such on her countenance with ease. Tauriel wasn't an Elleth who could so readily disguise the feelings she carried, whether they were good or ill.

Inwardly, Thranduil tried to account for what _he_ believed Tauriel must have felt after chancing a peek out his window: disappointment. Surely, sinister-looking shadows, thick trees, and carved stonework, all of which prevented any proper view of the night sky, must have upset her deeply, if the woeful frown lining her mouth was any indication to go by.

_It's the view. Not me._

The king's bedroom was known to be the most divine spot in all the realm and it had been...once. Thranduil had cemented it as a prison rather than a sanctuary centuries ago, however, believing his personal strife and poor circumstances made him unworthy of the stars or their guidance and power.

How could he not conclude that he was cursed or somehow undeserving? After losing his wife in battle, having half of his face melted off, and being abandoned by his only son, was it not a predictable assumption to reach?

To that end, and as far as Thranduil was concerned, Tauriel knew nothing of his heartache; or, if she thought she had an inkling as to the Age-long torments he carried, as she had indicated earlier, she wasn't expounding upon them now. For that, Thranduil was grateful. He relished the silence and already felt considerably out of his depths, holding hands with his one-time captain as she led him with silent confidence out of his bedroom, down a number of winding staircases, and out the front gates of his kingdom.

The guards standing watch neither stirred nor reacted to the emergence of their king, not to mention the accompaniment of a certain controversial Elleth who held his hand and guided him away from their fortress of protection. The two guards would discuss the peculiarity of these events once they were alone, naturally, but, in the presence of their king, neither dared to so much as eye each other sidelong.

Thranduil instructed them that he would be returning "shortly" but made no mention of where he and Tauriel were headed. He sensed the doors closing behind his trailing silver robes as he stepped out into the clearing, Tauriel at his front with her sweeping red locks blowing gently in the breeze.

He sucked in a breath, uncertainty creeping up the back of his neck. He rarely left the comforts of his kingdom anymore, and the forest held a quiet but weighty air he couldn't quite identify on this night; but he felt its severity in his very bones.

The soft wind provided some comfort, though, and Thranduil allowed his eyes to wander as Tauriel plunged ahead, never letting her hand drift out of his. She glided over fallen leaves and jagged tree stumps with minimal effort, for she, like her king, knew this forest like the palm of her hand, even in darkness.

The nearby waterfall rippled and churned, its tranquility soothing as the two strolled alongside the gentler stream from whence it spilt. It had been a long time since Thranduil walked the length of the river; so long that he became engrossed in the exercise and peace it brought his deprived soul.

For a few precious moments, he thought of nothing else; not of the smaller hand grasping his or her blazing red hair lighting his way through the dense brush or the way she had looked at him of late, like some helpless human with a demon on his back. He was one with the woodlands—_his_ woodlands—and every leaf that escaped a branch, every droplet of water, every creature that stirred crept through his veins like a running stream. It was like waking up from a terribly long hibernation.

Unware of this transformation, Tauriel ushered King Thranduil deep into the heart of the forest, where an ancient stone stairwell their people had built in the First Age spiralled out of the earth towards the heavens, as if nature had always placed it there without the render of their touch. It was still considered a sacred place, but centuries of neglect from none other than the king himself had rendered it messy and overgrown.

Together, they climbed its narrow steps, the king recalling the higher they rose how he and Legolas had so often ventured here when the prince was a youngling. The stone tower wasn't any taller than the walls of his kingdom, and yet, the sky was clearest from this viewpoint. Legolas had loved coming here.

_Yes... All the time._

Soon, they reached the top which opened onto a wide terrace, but King Thranduil's legs locked beneath the shade of a neighbouring tree that hung just overhead. Unable to take another step, his hand quickly slipped out of Tauriel's, his tall form shrinking into the shadows like a spooked animal. Tauriel spun around to face him, concern now detracting her from her goal.

The constellations were dazzling from here—too bright for one of them—and the enormity of the sky was overwhelming after being without its counsel for as long as he had. King Thranduil wasn't concerned with Tauriel judging his reaction, though. She hadn't been through what he had been forced to endure, and he reminded himself of that fact; she _couldn't_ understand. He peered up at the heavens not with awe but with crippling, unresolved self-doubts. _Foolishness_, the king chastised himself, though his body refused to move any closer.

Tauriel approached him, the hand that had been holding his still extended towards him in kind. It was painful to witness her king withholding so desperately from her now that they had reached this spot; holding back from what was a rightful and regular practice of their people. His face feigned caution, but beneath that heavily-guarded mask lay an undeniable vulnerability; a deep-seated infirmity plagued by centuries of self-hatred and sorrow.

"It's all right, hîr vuin," Tauriel coaxed as gently as her voice would register; she tried not to openly display too much sympathy, for he would surely run from her the second that compassion tipped too far. "Please...come?"

King Thranduil, seemingly incapable of moving, remained moulded to the stone upon which they stood, however, hidden in the shadows with only the light breeze to break the stillness of his stance. The wind fluttered his blond hair and billowed his expansive robes, but that was all.

Tauriel chanced another step closer, the bright constellations above casting a blue-tinted outline along her slim frame. Giving the king an encouraging look over, Tauriel stretched her arm further, to which King Thranduil eyed her apprehensively—first, her small hand and then her poised, considerate expression—before, at last, consenting. He inhaled a shaky breath that was too subtle for Tauriel to overhear and his larger fingers snaked through hers. It felt strange to hold hands yet again but not unwelcomed.

Tauriel's lips stretched into a smile. She steered him forward out of the shadows and into the clearing. For a heart-pounding moment, she was left breathless at what the night sky transcended before her eyes.

King Thranduil's hair turned a glistening white, his complexion translucent and as delicate as porcelain. The embroidered details of his robes, from his chest to his long train, were suddenly dotted with crystals. His eyes were the most disarming of all, though: luminous and blinding, like two sheer, pale blue diamonds cutting through the darkest night.

Tauriel forgot not to stare, unawares of her sovereign studying her in detail as well, those intense eyes soaking in her many fine features that had been made more brilliant by the constellations overhead. Her copper-coloured hair looked like magnetic flames scorching through the gloom. Her green irises were no longer clouded but two shining emeralds that bore unapologetically into his. Her pale skin, too, had turned to glass, sharpening her rose-tinted cheeks and soft lips.

Slowly, with agonising effort, King Thranduil tore his gaze from Tauriel's to peer up at the sky, though, for all they knew, minutes could have transpired before they finally unlocked eyes. Time wasn't being observed or acknowledged here.

For one, this had been a long-time coming. For the other, it was an awakening to something...new.

"It's such a clear night," Tauriel spoke up after a lengthy period of silence.

The quietude wasn't uneasy, but her gaze had kept darting from the sky to King Thranduil's striking profile, taken with how beautifully the starlight framed his face. A curious series of lines barely visible beneath the surface of his smooth skin also had Tauriel momentarily mesmerised—and stunned. She had never seen those markings before, and they were cruel-looking, angry and unnatural; but, more importantly, they appeared to have been cast by a foreign blade or...

_Dragon fire?_

King Thranduil bathed in starlight, as well as those unexpected, underlying vicious markings he carried, caused Tauriel's stomach to clench. It was an odd sensation; something she hadn't felt since...

"Yes... It is," he finally whispered in return, interrupting Tauriel's thoughts, and she was grateful he had.

King Thranduil continued to stare up at the stars in tight, quiet reflection for a time. Despite falling under a spotlight, Tauriel had trouble gauging whether or not he was suffering from this experience or actually enjoying the moment. She hoped it hadn't been a mistake to bring him here on such a vivid night, but it was difficult to ascertain what the king was truly feeling.

"Are you glad you came?" she pressed when, after many minutes had passed, he still hadn't uttered a word.

King Thranduil blinked and turned his head. The radiance in those blue irises nearly forced Tauriel to shield her own. Why did it feel like a heat was crawling up her neck and onto her cheeks? The king had eyed her many times before and hadn't garnered such a reaction out of her. That wasn't normal.

"Yes," he answered slowly, unguardedly, before another set of words graced his lips; words that shocked Tauriel to the core. "Thank you..."

Tauriel's mouth was dry by the time she responded, "You don't have to thank me, hîr vuin."

"Yes," he insisted with a steady shake of his head, eyes staring straight into hers, "I _do_."

Tauriel weakly smiled back and, without awareness, gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. She knew he had needed this, and she was all too glad to have pushed him in the right direction.

Reality quickly caught up with Tauriel's senses, however, and she panicked. She had pressed the king's hand. She wasn't even supposed to be _touching_ him, and yet, here they were holding hands.

Should she pull away? Why on earth was such an innocent gesture of goodwill making her tremble?

Tauriel tried to swallow but her throat felt parched. King Thranduil had resumed staring at the stars instead of her, though, and hadn't made mention of the Elleth's rather bold, unintentional move, so, perhaps, he didn't mind what was transpiring. Still...

_Why are you trembling, Tauriel? _

The confused former captain instinctively leaned closer, to which King Thranduil peered down at her once more, fastening his gaze to hers. An impenetrable look marred his deepest thoughts, whatever they were.

"I owe you several thank yous, in fact," he stated quietly, and Tauriel was suddenly frightfully aware of her own breathing, "not the least of which for the other night..."

Tauriel struggled to find her footing. "I assure you, my Lord, there's no need for—"

"Then you are a far more tolerant Elleth than I've given you credit for, Tauriel."

Tauriel could hardly believe her ears. It wasn't exactly an apology—or even an admittance of error on his part—and yet, it was pretty darn close. It was entirely out of character for the king to admit to the slightest fault, much less to offer it with such gentleness and sincerity. Yet he had done so, leaving Tauriel in utter shock. She wasn't aware of how, in the midst of lowering a couple of his defences, this thoughtful glimpse into her king was affecting her, either, but _something_ was stirring in her mind and in her heart, its awakening as of yet undetermined.

"Hîr vuin," she endeavoured to speak through the wrestle of peculiar emotions now plaguing her, "I... I have only ever wished to serve you to the greatest capacity I'm able...even if that has meant not always siding with your decisions."

King Thranduil acknowledged Tauriel's words with a respectful, silent nod, though his eyes were a touch too distant now for her liking. "You may not like me as your king, Tauriel, but I am who I am. I'm incapable of being anyone else."

"Of course not," Tauriel concurred, unconsciously reaching out to touch his arm with her opposite hand, "and I'd never ask that of you. I've _never_ sought to turn you into anything else but a better version of yourself, my Lord. In my attempts, I've often disrespected you, and that has greatly displeased you, I know, but it has only ever been in an effort to _help_. Honest."

King Thranduil glanced down at the warm hand now coiled around his arm, his face wearing an opaque expression Tauriel couldn't quite decode. Suddenly aware of touching him, and believing she had made another grave misstep, Tauriel hastily withdrew her hand, half expecting to be scorned for her indiscretion; but the king merely met her eyes again and held them for a long, considerable moment.

"I am...grateful to hear that," he answered slowly. "I'm guided by my principles and what I believe to be the right course, Tauriel; not by my heart. In order to reign to the best of my ability, I must be allowed to separate the two."

"I suppose that's where we so often differ in our manner of thinking, hîr vuin..."

"I believe so," he agreed with solemn conveyance, "and I only wish that you, if nothing else, come to understand my position rather than believe anything I do is so recklessly and nefariously done."

"I believe I'm starting to understand, my Lord..."

A slim smile graced King Thranduil's mouth, though it was all too brief. "That is encouraging."

Silence resumed, though a balance had shifted. Somewhere, somehow.

A short pause later, Tauriel reluctantly stepped back. She didn't seek to unlock their joined hands, though. She didn't want to and, unless she was sorely mistaken, King Thranduil wasn't keen on that, either.

"Would you like to return to your room now, hîr vuin?"

"No," he murmured without hesitation, turning to admire the heavens before them, his fingers still linked through hers, "I'd prefer to stay here a while."

"Very well."

Tauriel made an awkward shift towards the steps but found the hand still holding hers jerking her back. "Aren't you going to stay?" the king inquired innocently, eying Tauriel with a mixture of curiosity and, unless she was mistaken, a touch of worry.

"Yes, my Lord, I just... I was going to give you some space."

"Nonsense." King Thranduil's irises glimmered and recommenced their study of the constellations. "Stay."

_Stay._

It was such a simple command and, for once, not harsh or unfeeling. With a quiet shuffle, Tauriel drew to be side by side with him, their forms practically hip to hip as the two unlikely companions gazed at the night sky together.

"As you wish, hîr vuin."

* * *

King Thranduil resumed his sovereign duties the following day, much to his healers' disbelief and sound judgment. They kept insisting that he rest and continue recouping from his recent ailment, but the king dictated that he wouldn't remain staring at the ceiling all day and night, either. He took to answering correspondents and receiving council members in his private quarters, mostly to appease his healers.

Tauriel thought a return to a sense of normalcy was probably good for him. Their time spent on the roof of that tower watching the stars had lasted a good two hours, though neither was keeping track of time. Both parties weren't particularly eager to return home.

There had been a pleasant silence between them as they stood there stargazing, as well as in their return to King Thranduil's quarters later that night. More peculiar still, they hadn't let go of one another's hands in all that time, so lost in their shared experience that it was only upon Tauriel's return to her corner of his bedroom to stand guard that their hands, at last, broke apart. Both had stared at the now empty space between them, at first, confused and then in shock at how long their hands had been intertwined.

King Thranduil went to sleep with more ease than usual, his back turned away from Tauriel as he slept. The Elleth hadn't a clue what was going through his mind, but, for her own, the wheels were spinning out of whack and not providing her any sense of stability.

The evening had been an eye-opener, to be sure. Tauriel had enjoyed a brief but open exchange with her king for the first time in, perhaps, centuries. For once, they had seen eye to eye on matters related to one another, the starlight having exposed a bit more of themselves physically and spiritually.

Tauriel had observed King Thranduil at his most beautiful and uninhabited, but she had also exhumed more damage and personal suffering that lay beneath that solid, seemingly unyielding exterior. As the king dosed off feet from her post, Tauriel recalled the brutal scars she had noticed beneath that glass complexion; scars that couldn't be so easily discerned by their people's naked eyes.

How long had he kept that horrible secret? She had heard of King Thranduil's encounter with a dragon; one who had roamed just south of their lands, but the encounter took place well before her time, and it was never widely discussed or shared amongst their people. Perhaps that was at the king's behest, Tauriel never knew, but she mostly forgot about it.

_Much like you forget a lot of matters that are too personal to relive... _

What she had glimpsed of the king's wounds was heinous, however, and, upon further reflection, very nearly shattered Tauriel's composure. Their kin prided themselves on their natural beauty and Elven grace; it was not only their shining physical trait but essential in protecting them from harm. To have one of their own—the king—have half of his face burnt to a crisp, and carry a series of scars of such magnitude and depth that they were too invasive to be healed by their own medicine, was not only sorrowful to learn of but also horrifying.

As a Captain of the Guard, Tauriel had witnessed her share of injuries, but none so severe that their Elvish medicine couldn't mend what had once been broken or severed. King Thranduil was the first casualty she knew of to not come back from battle with his wounds fully healed. His scars may have been well concealed, but only just. Unlike any of their own, _his_ scars had never gone away.

_Not only is he mentally and emotionally scarred, but he's physically damaged as well..._

Tauriel shuddered in the darkness, and that gut-wrenching thought followed her back to the sanctuary of her own room later that morning once her shift had ended. The king required more help than she had ever realised. How to even broach the subject of those lingering scars?

_How can I help him heal when he disguises so much of his pain?_

* * *

"Thank you, Lathron. That will be all."

"Hîr vuin."

Lathron placed a handful of scrolls Thranduil had requested on the edge of his desk before bowing low and taking his leave. The king remained hunched over his desk, however, which he had had moved to his outdoor balcony so that he might better appreciate the forest trees and gentle breeze travelling through from the west.

It was a calm, rather uneventful evening, with the sun just beginning to set over Mirkwood, though the enormous brush surrounding Thranduil's balcony had dimmed his quarters hours ago. A few torches were alight so that he could continue scrawling a letter to Lord Celeborn without issue, though he had taken much of the afternoon to compose it, taking breaks every now and then to stretch his writing hand and to become engrossed in his private thoughts.

Thranduil hadn't gotten over the previous night nor his sensitive interaction with Tauriel. Not only had they reached an understanding of sorts, but they had held hands for hours on end and without a second thought, particularly on Thranduil's part.

_Why did you allow that?_

It was a straightforward question, really, and yet, he couldn't answer it; or, perhaps, his conscience—and his wary heart—refused to consider the matter on any deeper level than was necessary. It was significant, however, and, in the deeper recesses of his mind, Thranduil knew so. He hadn't held another's hand since his son was younger. Sure, occasionally Legolas might, as an adult, reach out and take his hand in a gesture of compassion and love, but another? And for hours at a time?

_No... The last time I ever did so was with my wife... With Vanya..._

Had it been wrong? It certainly hadn't _felt_ inappropriate.

In fact, if Thranduil dared to contemplate the exchange more closely, which he wouldn't, it had been quite nice to hold Tauriel's hand; to touch and experience another's natural warmth. A thirsty, needy ache somewhere deep within had been consoled by the close contact he had shared with Tauriel.

_And what I wouldn't give to experience it one more time_, his lonely heart yearned, though, as soon as he entertained the idea, Thranduil's mind shut him down.

_Remember how she betrayed you?_

_Remember how she told you she has only ever desired to help, though?_

_Remember how she is your personal guard and nothing more?_

_Remember how she_ is_ someone; someone capable of being...more?_

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose and released a frustrated sigh. He wouldn't get anywhere with this diffusing train of thought. He had important matters to focus on, such as ensuring the security and welfare of his kingdom, and getting emotionally and mentally well at that.

_Do not attach yourself so willingly to the first Elleth who is foolish enough to reach out to you, Thandruil. How soft you've become in such a short span of time! She wants to help, so allow her that; but let that be enough. She is a reliable worker, and she is re-earning her keep, but nothing more can come of this. You would do well to focus your attention on your duties to the realm rather than your pathetic personal wants and needs; they're insignificant! _

Thranduil swiftly schooled his features into an expression of smooth indifference and, as though there had been no interruption, he resumed his letter. He would push through the rest of this evening without another generous thought for the redheaded Tauriel if it meant writing this damned letter all night.

A half hour later, Thranduil had found his groove again, his thoughts pouring onto the empty parchment with ease, when a light tap at his balcony door interrupted the process. His shoulders tensed at the undesired intrusion.

"Hîr vuin?"

Thranduil recognised the voice of his guard without so much as raising his head. "What is it, Berialagoswen?"

"My apologies for interrupting you, my Lord, but there is someone here to see you."

"As you can clearly observe, Berialagoswen," Thranduil replied with overt irritability, "I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment."

"Too preoccupied for me?" came a humoured voice that had Thranduil's head straightening against the back of his chair.

Every hair on the back of the king's neck stood at attention. He whipped his head around quickly to make sure he hadn't misheard that register; a register he had longed to hear but thought he might never encounter again.

_That voice!_

To Thranduil's stunned recognition, he hadn't been mistaken. The prince came strolling onto his balcony, dressed in his signature green and brown attire, with the torch lights providing only a glimmer of all Thranduil desired to see. Legolas was smiling, too, the tenderness in those similar blue eyes unlike the cold calculation from the last time he and Thranduil had been face to face. Compassionate and inviting, they were more than Thranduil ever could have hoped to receive.

Thranduil unsteadily rose to his feet and fully turned. His voice betrayed him in slightness and frailty when he managed to utter his son's name.

"Legolas?"

Legolas's gracious smile lengthened. "Ada," he returned in a delicate, loving tone.

Both father and son stepped forward at the same time, but Thranduil was unstable on his feet, something that never occurred. His knees buckled and unexpectedly gave out before he could reach his son, sending Legolas flying forward to catch his fall. He seized Thranduil around the waist and, together, they collapsed rather gracefully to the ground.

Overwhelmed, Thranduil clawed at his son's back until he found a secure embrace that wouldn't allow Legolas an easy escape. He burrowed his face into the prince's long locks, stifling cries that poured out of him without warning as best he could. They were noiseless and desperate, and for his son's ears alone.

"It's all right, Ada," Legolas soothed Thranduil in Elvish, one hand pressed to the back of his father's head. "It's all right. Ná máresse, Ada. Ná máresse."

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

_**Ná máresse**** = I'm home**_

* * *

**A/N #2: I wasn't intending to introduce Legolas 'till later in this story, but he pushed his way through much earlier than I expected. I think this fic will wind up being shorter than originally expected, too, but we'll see. **

**If you're still reading/following, _please review_! I'd love to hear from you.**


	9. Amin vasa lle sinta (Feeble mind)

**A/N: Thank you so much to all who reviewed the last chapter. It was heartening to know there's still interest in this story, even if my updates are slow. **

**I'm in a bit of a funk writing-wise, but all of your positive feedback really pushed me to get this chapter written. It's a bit angsty, but I hope you enjoy it...**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Amin vasa lle sinta (Feeble mind)**

* * *

Tauriel froze. _Prince Legolas?_ Had she heard her fellow guard correctly?

"Prince...Legolas?" she repeated aloud, hardly able to grasp the news that had dropped on her like an arrow straight to the gut; her heart began pounding aggressively, flushing her cheeks and pointed ears a brighter hue.

"Yes!" exclaimed Daeron.

Tauriel swallowed and inched past Daeron to peek inside the king's bedroom, each step forward painfully slow and reluctant; but curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Perhaps she wouldn't see the prince. Perhaps he was back resting in his own chambers and Tauriel wouldn't be forced to come in contact with him for another day or two.

_Wishful thinking, Tauriel!_

The doors were wide open and two male guards stood just inside, having escorted the prince to greet his father. Berialagoswen was present as well, and, as soon as Tauriel stepped into the the king's room, he pounced on her, stern and on the defence.

"My lady, please wait outside until the king calls for you."

Tauriel reared back, surprised. "This is where I'm supposed to be stationed tonight—"

"_With all due respect_," Berialagoswen interrupted her with bite, but Tauriel had already caught a glimpse of King Thranduil and the back of the prince out on his private balcony, "the king is indisposed at the present time. _I_'ll handle this. You wait outside."

Tauriel wasn't listening, however. She was preoccupied with the highly charged emotional scene unfolding before her eyes.

King Thranduil and Prince Legolas were huddled close together on the ground, arms locked around each other in an embrace not of their kind but of Man. It was unusual and threw Tauriel. The king was clutching at whatever of his son he could grasp, his hands moving in a frantic motion between the back of Prince Legolas's clothes and his long hair. His face was mostly concealed behind the prince's locks, but his crumbled body language spoke of an obvious unravelling; a mixture of pent-up turmoil and emotional release.

Tauriel was rendered speechless, not only by the unexpected reappearance of Prince Legolas, but by how distraught King Thranduil appeared. She had never seen him in such a state. She made an unconscious step towards them but was immediately stopped by Berialagoswen, who stepped in front of her and blocked her view, one hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

"Leave at once," he commanded, his set jaw and narrow eyes unyielding in their position.

"I'd be neglecting my duties if—"

"I've told you, Tauriel, I've got this sorted. Wait outside." He added a rather barking, "_Now_," that had Tauriel shrinking, though hesitantly, in obedience. The last thing she desired was to cause a scene when there was already one taking place; one the royal family would most certainly prefer to keep confidential.

Tauriel peered over her shoulder as she exited the room. King Thranduil was still hugging the prince tightly, and he likewise, but she couldn't make out Prince Legolas's face. Secretly, she was grateful for that. She had been completely shellshocked by his sudden return to Mirkwood, and, now, she hardly knew how she might handle herself should they encounter one another.

Tauriel retreated into the hall, her steps flighty and nervous, and took her spot at the opposite end of the king's doors. Daeron fell quiet, leaving the panic-stricken Elleth to her own devices, which Tauriel appreciated given the difficulty in processing the drastic changes that had suddenly shifted her world.

A reeling Tauriel hovered outside and tapped her heel, her feelings now clouded by trepidation. Her nerves only heightened as the next hour passed. How would she be received by the prince? How should _she_ respond?

_What if he's displeased to see me? What if...his sentiments haven't changed?_

The last time Tauriel and Prince Legolas had spoken was at Ravenhill. The battle was over, Kíli was dead, and Tauriel was, understandably, consumed by her grief. Added to mourning the death of someone she loved was the perplexity at the prince's reckless decision to leave their people when their dead hadn't yet been buried or so much as collected. Was he running away? Had _she_ driven him to this point?

In hindsight, Tauriel supposed she couldn't blame Prince Legolas for not sticking around. His father had survived (unscathed, as far as they knew at the time), and it had been an extended while since father and son had seen eye to eye on virtually anything, including certain touchy matters that had gone down between them in the midst of the battle. Unfortunately, Tauriel had found herself caught in the middle. The prince had stepped in, defying his father in order to save Tauriel's life, and in front of their fellow soldiers; _that_ incident surely wouldn't have gone over well later once they had had time to process it.

Still, Tauriel hadn't expected Prince Legolas to pick up and leave so abruptly. In their time spent journeying towards the Lonely Mountain in the weeks beforehand, the prince had made his deeper sentiments for her clear. Although she came to fully understand his regard, her heart couldn't concede. She sensed the desperation the prince retained in her coming to return his affections, and that pained Tauriel greatly that he clung so hopelessly to the possibility of a future together; it was something she had never envisioned for herself.

It wasn't on account of the Dwarf prince, who had so miraculously captured her heart, that Tauriel ultimately couldn't love Prince Legolas back. Truth be told, Tauriel had never felt a romantic connection to the prince in all their years growing up together. She wasn't even sure when his sentiments had first turned amorous, but they had startled her when they surfaced and made her increasingly uncomfortable and guilt-ridden by the time Kíli entered the picture. Falling for a Dwarf hadn't been anticipated, of course, and Prince Legolas's underlying offence at being passed over for a small, smelly, bearded fellow was somewhat apparent.

Growing up alongside the prince had meant that, to Tauriel, any romantic attachment was unfathomable. She was a lowly Silvan Elleth, after all; Prince Legolas would one day become king. Surely, he would fall in love with an Elleth of status and a certain occupation, not the wild Captain of the Guard with too humble beginnings. Tauriel wasn't only of a low-ranking background but an Elleth of no particular importance or wealth. There simply wasn't wiggle room for someone of her average stature to secure the prince's heart; or so she thought.

Somehow, Tauriel had managed to accomplish just that, though she hadn't a clue how, placing a considerable wedge between King Thranduil and herself, as well as putting an enormous strain on hers and Prince Legolas's friendship. She had tried to keep the peace whilst continuing to be herself, but it seemed that no amount of space put between her and him sent him scurrying into another's arms. He remained steadfastly loyal to her, much to Tauriel's growing uneasiness as the years passed, and refused to listen to any interventions his father attempted on his behalf.

_Now what do I do?_ her mind stammered as she forced herself not to start pacing on the spot.

_You greet him as your future sovereign, Tauriel. You act as you always have around him. You be warm and civil and keep your head._

_But... What if his feelings are unchanged?_

_Then you do nothing. That is for Prince Legolas to mull through and overcome._

It had been this very subject that Tauriel hadn't wished to touch upon, even with herself. Leave it up to her own stubborn conscience to hit on the exact problematic note she would have preferred to leave buried in the past.

Tauriel was rather curious what might have changed for Prince Legolas in the past year. She hoped whatever adventures he had sought away from home had worked in his favour. So much had changed for _her_ since the prince's departure, after all. She had grieved the loss of Kíli—she was still working through the messiness of his death—and was just beginning to find her feet again amongst her people. She was on better footing with King Thranduil than she had been a year ago, and something else was stirring in her heart; something not yet named or faced.

Tauriel unconsciously drew her arms around herself, marking a protective pose. Whatever the minutes, days, or weeks ahead might hold for her and the prince, she prayed she and Prince Legolas would be able to find mutual ground. The last thing she wanted was to rehash past disappointments and unintended hurts.

_That's not up to you, Tauriel. You must be prepared for anything now._

* * *

Prince Legolas spent the next two hours inside the king's bedroom. The doors remained open, with the guards inside staying put, but Tauriel wasn't able to overhear any exchanges between father and son. Whatever words of healing were being uttered, they were hushed and for no one else's prying ears.

It was in the heavy midsts of her racing thoughts that Tauriel, at last, detected footsteps drawing nearer to her and Daeron. Her spine straightened and every hair on the back of her neck rose to attention. She held her breath and refused to peer sideways as the guards, including Berthialagoswen, suddenly materialised. They turned to the right, away from her, and tore off in the opposite direction, though.

Only once Tauriel was certain she could breathe the night air again did she chance stealing a glance at the cluster of guards marching further and further away. Sandwiched between them was the tall, blond-haired prince, who hadn't noticed Tauriel as he quietly exited his father's chambers.

Tauriel slunk against the wooden door frame, releasing a weighty sigh of relief. That had been a close call, one she had been fretting over for the past two hours.

Tauriel was caught off her guard when King Thranduil abruptly came waltzing through the doors as well, dragging his crimson and golden-colored robes behind him on the ground. They shimmered against the soft glow of the many torches hanging in the hall, his stature poised as he watched his son's retreat. It was a far cry from what Tauriel had witnessed hours earlier, when the king had been a fragmented wreck hunched over on the floor of his balcony. He watched in silence as the prince's silhouette vanished into the shadows and then turned to Tauriel, who, by now, had jumped back from the door and was standing at attention.

King Thranduil looked composed now, even a bit withdrawn. Although Tauriel was alleviated to see him no longer overwrought, the sudden distance she detected in those eyes felt troublesome. She hoped that his and Prince Legolas's reunion had been a positive exchange.

The king's thick eyebrows came together at an angle. "You're tense, Tauriel," he made mention of her stiffened body language, causing Tauriel's pointed ears to blush. "Are you not pleased to see Prince Legolas returned?"

"I..." Tauriel was at a loss as to how to answer. "Yes, my Lord, I am."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I'm just...surprised is all. Forgive me."

A gradual, soft-spoken "As am I," returned Tauriel's confession, and her tense shoulders relaxed a bit at that. Something in his sudden openness, brief as it was, made her chest flutter.

The king lingered a moment longer, intense irises searching Tauriel's. Then he straightened and cleared his throat.

"I'm off to bed. You may stay out here for the remainder of the night." When Tauriel made an apprehensive turn of her head, he added, "I need time alone to... To digest my son's return. I'll leave the doors unlocked."

Tauriel bowed in understanding and offered him a small smile. He didn't return her expression of comfort, but she could sense a weight lifting from his eyes, undoubtedly thanks to the arrival of his son. He gracefully stepped back inside his bedroom, leaving Tauriel and Daeron to shut the doors. Tauriel caught one last glimpse of a more put-together King Thranduil and then the oak doors barred her from his person.

For whatever reason, being suddenly divided from her king agitated Tauriel. She shoved that strange feeling down, though, along with the rest of the Unwanted Things she preferred to keep shrouded in darkness rather than confront, and focused on getting through the rest of her shift.

* * *

Tauriel awoke from her morning slumber to the sound of light knocking upon her door.

Prying her eyes open in confusion, she rose from the comfort of her pillow with a frown. Why was someone here? She wasn't expecting company and had only crawled into bed some three or four hours ago.

In a huff, Tauriel scanned her bedroom, disgruntled by the level of untidiness that had gotten out of hand. Various items of clothing and weaponry were discarded everywhere. Not much incentive for inviting someone in for a visit.

She waited, hoping against hope that the knocking would desist. After a short pause, however, it started again.

Claiming defeat, Tauriel tore back the covers and chanced a quick glance at herself in a full length mirror. Her hair was a bit tousled, which she swiftly straightened out, and she didn't exactly look well rested, but it could have been worse. She snatched a pair of light green robes from atop her dresser and threw them on, not paying further mind to her general appearance.

"All right, all right," she grumbled none-too-kindly at whoever kept knocking; she briefly considered that it might be the king hounding her this morning and immediately put on a feigned, cheerful face. When she flung the door open at last, however, her mouth dropped to the floor. "Pr - Prince Legolas!" she gasped, eyes expanding at the handsome, relaxed Elf leaning against her door frame, arms nonchalantly crossed over his chest.

Prince Legolas shot her a sheepish-looking grin, prompting Tauriel to secure her robes more tightly around herself. He unfurled his arms, paying her coyness no mind, and stepped forward, sending Tauriel tumbling backward. The prince caught her ungraceful fall and brought her into a warm hug, one that Tauriel awkwardly returned.

"It was about time we said hello to each other, don't you agree?" he suggested in a soft, good humoured tone, his smile stretching across his cheeks as he reared back to study her. "I hope you haven't been avoiding me?"

At that, Tauriel prayed the blush creeping onto her cheeks wouldn't give away that very notion. She _had_ hoped to not run into him so soon—not, at least, without having first prepped herself with what she might say. This was either going to go smoother than she suspected or disastrous beyond her wildest imagination.

"No, of course not," Tauriel fumbled over her words. "I - I only just learned of your arrival. How are you, Prince Legolas?"

"I..." Prince Legolas paused and politely gestured towards the sanctuary of her room. "May I come in?"

"Oh! I— Yes, of course!" Leaving the prince to close her door, Tauriel scurried to retrieve the scattered articles strewn across her floor and furniture, including her battle knives and bow and arrows. "Please ignore the mess. I - I wasn't expecting company—"

"It's all right, Tauriel," Prince Legolas assured her, chuckling at her sudden wave of panic and humorous attempt at modesty. "Don't put yourself out. I'm sorry if I startled you. I was just...anxious to see you."

Tauriel tried not to read too much into the receiving of_ that_ remark, though her spine had gone rigid. She hastily turned away to dispose of her belongings in her adjoining bathroom, excusing herself another moment to change into something more presentable than cover robes.

There was little time to prep herself for this moment or to so much as take a couple deep breaths, however. One didn't keep a member of the royal family waiting.

Reluctantly, Tauriel returned to her room, dressed in regular attire this time, and made a point of surveying Prince Legolas's face before inching any closer. He seemed relaxed, unruffled by her appearance, and, to her consolation, those serene, blue eyes looked much friendlier than the last time they had spoke.

Tauriel took the Elf's casual demeanour as a good omen and seated herself on the edge of her unmade bed. The prince slipped into a nearby chair opposite her, his genuine smile still intact.

"So..." she started and stopped, unsure of where or how to start the conversation.

"So..." Prince Legolas uttered likewise; a tricky pause later and he tried again. "I... I confess myself shocked that you're here. My father mentioned you returned not long ago..."

"A couple months now." Tauriel unmindfully safeguarded her arms around herself.

"What brought you back?"

"I didn't come of my own free will." At the pinched expression that marred the prince's countenance, Tauriel explained, "A pack of orcs were apparently quite close to where I had made camp. The king's guards happened upon me whilst out searching for them. I was brought back here supposedly for my own safety—"

"But you don't believe that," Prince Legolas finished for her, a glint of amusement lighting up his eyes.

"Not really," Tauriel confessed with a shrug. "In any case, I was permitted to stay and have since become employed as one of your father's personal guards."

Prince Legolas gave a slow nod of recognition. "I was admittedly surprised to hear he appointed you to such a position, too, given your...history."

This, the prince intoned with appropriate delicacy, prompting a thin smile to cross Tauriel's lips. She bowed in agreement.

"Believe me, I was shocked, too. I... I never expected to be brought back here, let alone to be permitted to stay, but I find myself grateful to your father for his...mercy."

Prince Legolas blinked, bewildered. "You're _really_ glad to be back?"

"Indeed I am. The banishment and isolation was...harder than I ever imagined it would be."

"I suppose that would be difficult," the prince replied thoughtfully. "You didn't journey farther north?"

"I would have...eventually."

A short, silent lapse ensued. Tauriel tried to think of something else to say besides more talk of her banishment, but her mind had shut off. Eventually, Prince Legolas leaned forward in his chair and drew his hands together. His bright eyes, much like the king's, were kind and considerate but penetrating as they bore into hers.

"And how are you, Tauriel?"

The question was straightforward but sincere, and Tauriel appreciated the concern she perceived in Prince Legolas's eyes. It was a touch reminiscent of the brotherly affection she had long carried for him, caring and natural; it was that of the same Elf with whom she had shared her wonders and misgivings, fears and dreams. They had been so close once.

_So, so close..._

Tauriel inclined her head in gratitude. "I'm well, thank you. Well, I'm _getting_ well; better and stronger everyday."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Tauriel gave Prince Legolas equal consideration before asking, "And how are you?"

"The same," he acknowledged, his eyes trailing about her room a long moment, "though I've missed home."

Tauriel's attentive smile increased. "May I ask what brought _you_ back here?"

For the first time since laying eyes on her, Prince Legolas broke contact, his irises shifting uncomfortably back and forth. "My father doesn't know this, Tauriel, so I share this with you in the strictest of confidence, you understand?" Although taken aback by his stress for secrecy, Tauriel nodded, and the prince carried on. "The healers sent a messenger to track me down. I had recently joined up with a ranger whose name, for the time being, I shall refrain from sharing. They informed me that my father wasn't... Wasn't well," Prince Legolas spoke those particular words with some difficulty, "so, naturally, I didn't hesitate to drop everything and return home. I... I had to be sure he was all right."

Tauriel suspected she might be pressing her luck but couldn't stop herself from questioning, "And how do you find him?"

Prince Legolas raised his head a fraction, his pale face now displaying open concern. "He seems far removed from the king I knew...before I left."

"Yes," she agreed quietly, "he is much changed."

"He told me you... You found him," Prince Legolas pushed on in a delicate whisper, though he seemed somewhat hesitant to continue. "That is, that it was you who's been breaching protocol these past few days in order to help him?"

Tauriel was shocked that King Thranduil would admit to such a touchy subject, though she surmised that, perhaps, Prince Legolas didn't have all the puzzle pieces in order. Uncertain as to how much she should divulge, Tauriel merely consented with a small bow.

"Yes, I'm aware of his...condition."

Prince Legolas angled his head. "'Condition'?"

_Oh, for goodness' sake, Tauriel! You and your damned mouth!_

Gripped by sudden nerves, Tauriel stuttered to rephrase her words. "I... Perhaps that was the wrong word—"

"Tauriel," Prince Legolas stopped her, putting up a hand to silence her as well, "you needn't speak to me as the healers have. Since my arrival, they've been nothing short of secretive. They told me my father was unwell, but they refuse to give me the particulars. I don't want a watered-down version of the truth, Tauriel, especially not from _you_. You've always been honest with me."

Tauriel wound her arms a little tighter around herself. "Then, if I may ask, what has your father told you?"

Prince Legolas's jaw clenched. The subtle flinch he gave wasn't quick enough to escape Tauriel's sight, either.

"That he's been drinking a bit too heavily of late, but that it was nothing earth-shattering for me to come home over. I suspect he isn't telling me the whole truth, is he?"

At this, Tauriel opened and closed her mouth several times, finding herself unexpectedly wedged between a rock and a hard place.

On the one hand, she was just beginning to earn the king's trust back, something that, to her unknown rationality, deeply mattered to her in ways it hadn't before. Their recent exchange on the terrace beneath the stars had been a tremendous step forward for him, marginal in the grand scheme of things, yes, but monumental, nonetheless. For a fleeting moment, King Thranduil had allowed Tauriel in, and she had no wish to squash that.

On the other hand, Tauriel's code of conduct had always been to tell the the truth and to speak her mind. King Thranduil was indeed not well and, for too long, had used alcohol as a means of escaping his life and responsibilities. Didn't his only son deserve to know that much?

_Perhaps he already does..._

Tauriel squirmed and endeavoured to keep her discomfort from showing. "I... My Lord... I think... That is, I believe your father, erm, well—"

"Tauriel, listen," Prince Legolas stressed, his voice gentle but affirming, "be straight with me, please? You always have been, and that's something I greatly appreciate about you. You're one of the few in my life who doesn't make light of things in order to appease other people's comfort levels; you don't lie and you don't stretch the truth."

The prince paused and pressed his lips together. "I know of my father's heavy drinking habits. Ever since my mother died, it's gotten progressively worse. He's been through a lot; far more than most know... You needn't shield the extent of it from me. I already have my suspicions."

Slowly, though with a level of uncertainty that kept nagging at her ability to speak up, Tauriel let out the breath she had been holding in. Her shoulders sunk and her arms unfolded from around her. From what she could perceive from the prince's own words, as well as the unspoken communication being expressed in his eyes, he knew far more about his father's demons than anyone, including her. What was the harm in telling the truth now?

"I... I tried to tell him," Tauriel began to admit, a deep sadness trickling into her voice. "I tried to tell him that drinking to the point of excess wouldn't bring you back. He... He wouldn't listen. The king's been so angry and so combative and so cut off from everyone; its been very concerning.

"I found him a couple nights ago. He'd been trying to ward off the sickness from alcohol abuse on his own; he was quite out of it. It frightens me to think what might have happened if someone hadn't intervened on his behalf.

"Everyone turns a blind eye to his troubles, Prince Legolas," she pressed with more urgency, "and I understand that I'm in no position to force your father into anything, but I... I couldn't idly stand by any longer and watch him destroy himself. If - If it wasn't me, I would hope someone else would have done the same for him in yours or my absence. Forgive me if this upsets you, but I _had_ to do something—"

"I think nothing ill of your decision to step in and try to help, Tauriel," he assured her, pale hands outstretched in understanding.

Tauriel sighed, a sense of relief pouring over her from head to toe. "I'm glad. Thank you, Prince Legolas." She paused, softened, green eyes scanning his. "Your father has suffered more than I ever realised."

"Yes," came Prince Legolas's fragile response, unforthcoming, "he has..."

"I do hope your return will help him in his recovery. I know he's long wished for you to return home, even if he's never spoken of it openly."

A glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of the prince's mouth. "I take it he hasn't mentioned much of me?"

Tauriel shook her head. "No...but that doesn't mean you haven't been on his mind—"

"Oh, I know." Prince Legolas laughed placidly, but then his eyes dropped to the ground. Slowly, after a lengthy silence, they returned to Tauriel, their expression now a tight mask of hidden depths. "I have no intention of staying long."

Tauriel drew forward. "Oh! You aren't here to stay?"

"I'm not sure for how long I'll remain; perhaps, until my father has regained his full strength. Then I'll..."

Tauriel angled her head, curious. "Where will you go?"

Prince Legolas paused and then, with thoughtfulness, answered only, "North."

Understanding that he had little intention of disclosing his future plans to her—at least, not yet—Tauriel bowed respectfully and didn't pursue the subject. She redrew her arms around herself and settled for silence.

After a couple moments passed, with both parties digesting bits and pieces of their conversation, Prince Legolas issued a quiet, "Thank you...for giving me an accurate account of things, Tauriel. I'm grateful _someone_ around here still has the sense to stand up to him when it's necessary."

Tauriel presented him with a feeble smile. "I don't necessarily see my actions as standing up to the king so much as simply trying to help him help himself."

"Of course. And you did the right thing."

Tauriel was more grateful to hear that than she realised. "Thank you, Prince Legolas, although, I'm afraid there are far more who would disagree with your conclusion than would concur. I'm considered a disturber of the peace around here."

"Since when have you ever taken actions that were seen in the eyes of most as favourable?"

Tauriel's faint grin stretched across her lips. "This is true."

Prince Legolas matched her amused smile. He rose from his seat, motivating Tauriel to do the same. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so edgy about their meeting, after all.

"It's good to see you, Tauriel." He stepped forward to embrace her once more and, this time, Tauriel took it in fully, returning his hug with warmth and acceptance. "I hope we'll be able to catch up more this evening?"

Tauriel's brow furrowed. "This evening?"

Prince Legolas made a dramatic roll of his eyes. "A ceremony to celebrate my return. Father's insistence."

"Ahhh, then you'd best show up," Tauriel teased, adding after a short laugh, "as should I...or else your father might ring my neck."

After a brief but heartening farewell, Prince Legolas excused himself and Tauriel returned to bed, dropping onto her mattress with newfound relief. At least that had gone considerably well, with no uneasy touches on any unresolved feelings.

_You don't know that for sure, Tauriel_, her conscience warned her.

Her alleviation rapidly spiralled from there, turning to concern. She pursed her lips together, exasperation creeping into her mind.

_Was he entirely forthcoming? And what of his plans to depart? The king... He'll be heartbroken..._

_And speaking of the king..._

_No. No, Tauriel. Don't go there. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
_

* * *

Thranduil examined his trembling right hand with a disgusted sneer. The shakes had been worse than usual today, leaving him to ponder when these wretched side effects from withdrawal would ever begin to subside. When would he have peace?

Since he awoke that morning following Legolas's return, the shakes hadn't ceased, nor had the powerful, unquenchable thirst for relief that might prevent his ability to feel. He was sick to death of _feeling _all the time; the short time spent confronting his problems and the emptiness in his heart had left him weary and undone. He was only into his first week of sobriety and had had his fill. Desperation for something to take the edge off was becoming more and more acute.

By midday, his symptoms had grown intolerable, forcing Thranduil to send for one of the healers. Now, after having doused a remedy that had been brewed to his specifications, the shakes had lessened but weren't entirely gone. Between uncontrollable fits, being too distracted by his own disruptive thoughts to concentrate, and dealing with incessant urges to acquiesce his pain, alarm was settling into the pit of his stomach, compelling the king to a maddening level of irritation.

Thranduil hissed, clamped, and wrung his hands a few times, though this did nothing to subdue his symptoms. He resumed pacing the length of his balcony in frustration. He should have been at his son's celebration party an hour ago. By now, many of the people, including his own son, would surely be wondering why he wasn't there; but Thranduil wasn't keen on anyone seeing him in such an unfit state as this, unable to control his emotions and likely to make a fool of himself.

_Again._

The whole situation was aggravating—_Pathetic!_—and the latest disclosure from his own son hadn't helped matters. Thranduil hadn't been able to get their earlier volatile exchange out of his head. He wasn't one to ever be caught off his guard. Normally, he sensed when trouble was afoot, especially within the secure walls of his own fortress, but Legolas's slip that day—a short, stifling reference to his struggle with substance abuse—had knocked the wind out of Thranduil like a knife cut straight to the heart.

After the careful, delicate reunion they had shared only hours before, Legolas's confrontation was unexpected and rather brutal to the king's already fragile state. Legolas had dropped by to see his father whilst he was in the midst of being treated for the shakes. Thranduil had been humiliated by the intrusion but put on a brave, albeit hardened, face. He could tell from the off that Legolas wasn't buying any of his excuses for feeling unwell, however, and the reality of his son's awareness surfaced quicker than either of them would have liked.

_"This has gone on for far too long, Ada," Legolas issued delicately, stepping back from his bed as if he feared damaging his father further by getting too close. "You've damaged yourself to the point of no return. Do you understand what that means?"_

_"Legolas—"_

_"I wish... I wish you would have let me help you. Why didn't you send for me sooner?"_

_"Legolas—"_

_"Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?"_

_Thranduil stilled on his bed, barely breathing as his eyes darkened, staring into his son's pain of which he was the cause. In a state of panic and rising anger, Thranduil turned to the only way of coping he knew: he swept it under the rug, along with his feelings, giving Legolas a cool, calculated reply._

_"I don't know what you're speaking of."_

_"Don't insult me!" Legolas lashed out; it was a rarity to see the prince so quick to anger, but it evidently could no longer be avoided._

_"Don't insult_ me_," Thranduil snarled back, eyes flashing dangerously._

_"I know what this is!" Legolas gestured to the potion the healer was brewing beside Thranduil's bed; the healer remained tight-lipped and turned away from the scene, refusing to intervene on either's behalf. "I know what you're trying so desperately to hide from me, but you can't conceal it any longer! Your secret's out, Ada! Others are aware of your...condition, so don't you dare lie to me!"_

_"'Condition'?" Thranduil gave such a violent jerk forward that he nearly toppled sideways; his visible shivering deflated some of Legolas's outrage. "How dare you speak to me this way! I haven't received you back into this realm for you to defame and accuse me of such falsehoods!"_

_"'Falsehoods'?" Legolas's eyes widened in horror. "Are you so far gone, Ada, that you believe your own lies?"_

_Thranduil's cheeks felt like they were on fire. He could sense the searing pain beneath the flesh starting to boil over and gave the healer a direct, belligerent Elvish order to leave._

_Once they were alone, Thranduil scooted towards the edge of his bed, fighting tooth and nail to keep the shakes at bay, as well as the gruesome, old scars that wanted to come out into the light. His trembles were unstable, but Legolas remained where he was, disappointment and indignation etched into those narrowed, worried eyes._

_"You!" Thranduil began to rant, pointing a quivering finger at him. "You who ran away from his responsibilities! From his duties! You who took off over wounded pride and a bloody rejection from an orphaned Elleth who never returned your affections! You would seek to lecture_ me_ on how I've coped?"_

_Thranduil was on his feet, legs wobbling forward to reach his son, who had gone solid as a rock. "I've never sought to run away from my problems! I've remained committed to our people! To this realm! What have_ you _ever done to help the people?"_

_"You don't have to physically run away in order to avoid life, Ada," Legolas retorted with patience and clarity, "and you should know that. You've been avoiding feeling anything for centuries."_

_"How I choose to handle my losses are no business of yours!"_

_"There are bigger problems than yours, mine, or our people's, Ada!" Legolas's voice rose, passion lighting up his eyes. "You've chosen to turn a blind eye for too long, and look where that got us! How many of our own had to die before the foot of the Lonely Mountain and, still, you've turned away from the Darkness spreading as we speak!"_

_Legolas's ire flattened with the harshness of his own words, knowing how deeply they stung his father. He caught Thranduil's wince, as though he had been slapped. He made for an unsteady retreat, but Legolas reached out and grabbed him by the arms. This time, the prince exercised a more gentle and considerate tone when he spoke._

_"I'm sorry, Ada," he whispered sincerely, weaving an arm around his father's back, though Thranduil tried to push him away; he lacked the physical strength. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that; that was wrong of me."_

_"Get away!" Thranduil snapped and staggered out of his son's arms. He made for the balcony, reaching out to grip furniture or the wall as he stumbled away. _

_Legolas followed after him, however, keeping a certain distance from behind but refusing to leave. "Ada, please—"_

_"Leave me!"_

_Legolas swallowed hard, torn between obedience and insubordination. "I'll... I'll send the healer back in. You need to take something."_

_"GO!"_

_Legolas flinched at the fury of that command but took a respectful step backward, continuing to gaze beseechingly at the back of the king's head. Thranduil wouldn't turn around to face him, though. His eyes were locked ahead on the shadows that lay beyond his balcony, their coverings preventing any natural light from seeping in._

_"I didn't come here to fight with you, Ada," he heard Legolas convey, his voice filled with sadness. "I only came here to help. I_ want _you well. I_ want _to be here for you. And I... I'm not giving up."_

_Thranduil focused on calming his breathing, not trusting the whip of his tongue to deceive him should he respond. By the time he felt confident enough to turn around and face Legolas, the prince had quietly gone._

_You should be at that ceremony, Thranduil_, his conscience now berated him. _Get a hold of yourself, and go!_

The king wasn't aware of having paced for an hour; or that time—and the party he was expected to attend—was slipping away as the minutes ticked by. He never heard the light tapping at his door; or detected Tauriel slipping into his room. He didn't realise he was no longer alone until it was too late.

"Hîr vuin?" Thranduil startled at the compassionate voice he heard; his fearful eyes met hers. In an instant, she was standing in front of him, staring up at him with open concern. "Are you all right?" she pressed softly, one hand reaching out to touch him.

'YES!' was on the tip of his tongue; Thranduil would have screamed that deception from the rooftops of his kingdom, if he felt some measure of control still graspable.

There was nothing to clutch, however; nothing to cling to. Masqueraded strength was a forgone possibility in his current frame of mind.

Slowly, Thranduil shook his head back and forth, long, glossy hair cascading forward into his face. His pointed ears and cheeks were burning, and he could feel his silver crown slipping from atop his head. He didn't care.

_Let it fall. Let it smash and scatter into a thousand pieces. But this pain... This pain! Make it go away!  
_

The king's hands and knees were vibrating too violently to be concealed. He latched onto Tauriel's outstretched hand, yanking her towards him with minimal effort. She gasped but recuperated from the start of being brought closer and grabbed onto his other hand as well, squeezing them both with as much reassurance as she could convey with her touch.

"It's all right," Tauriel whispered, her vocals rocky but her tone surprisingly collected, as if she knew precisely what he needed to hear. "You don't have to be in control all the time, at every moment, hîr vuin. You _need_ to release. You _need_ to feel your own vulnerability. You _need_ to acknowledge the pain. Whatever you're going through, you _must_ face it. Don't run anymore; don't shut the pain out. Confront it.

"I promise you," she insisted, speaking in a slow, soothing rhythm; she grasped his hands tighter as his trembles worsened, "it won't be like this forever. I promise you, it's going to be all right; _you're going to be all right_."

Thranduil blinked several times, his mouth set in a stringent frown as he attempted to catch his breath through flared nostrils, and then the left side of his face slipped its mask. The savage-like scars Tauriel had merely glimpsed before surfaced like dragon fire before her eyes, spreading from the king's cheek to his left eye to part of his jaw and forehead. Smooth, perfect flesh was grisly replaced by contorted muscle and burnt, reddened skin. His left eye became clouded and deformed, his complexion roughened beyond recognition.

Tauriel fought back the lump that lodged in her throat. She tried not to shrink from him, either, though she didn't have to. Thranduil recoiled first. His shaky hands shot out of hers to cover the scars, horrified that she had witnessed his physical disgrace. He stumbled backward, managing to right himself but only by turning away from her.

Tauriel, having frozen in place, found her sense of movement again and, with caution, approached the king. His face was mostly hidden behind his hands and hair, and Tauriel reached out to gently clasp his larger fingers between hers. His careworn breathing stilled under her touch, and she appreciated that he didn't seek to fight her off.

With painstaking effort, Thranduil allowed his former captain to twist her fingers through his and lower them from his face; from the vicious scars he sought to hide from the world.

"Hîr vuin," he heard her plead, her voice soft and affectionate. Why was she not repulsed? Why was she still here? "Please... Don't be afraid to look at me."

Reluctant, and yet, compelled to obey, Thranduil gradually met Tauriel's gaze, his jaw clenched and the expression therein unforgiving, as if daring her to turn away from him now. He was no longer focused on the shakes that had plagued him most of the day or his unwanted argument with his son, only the dreaded exposure of lingering wounds that mirrored the emotional turmoil within; a terrible secret that had been his burden to carry—and his alone—for far too long.

Thranduil expected the redhead before him to finally retreat or, at the very least, show him pity. What she presented him with instead shocked him to the quick: she smiled. It wasn't woeful or disingenuous but tolerant, even proud.

_How could that be?_

"There you are," she murmured, releasing a sigh that held him spellbound. "There's the great king I've been searching for..."

Thranduil shuddered. Was that...acceptance? How was she still able to so much as look at him?

Unexpectedly, he stiffened. Like a snake shedding its skin, the scars began to recede of their own accord. Confounded, Thranduil half reached for his face, feeling the prickly sensation of the scars closing and healing themselves. He wasn't merely shoving them back beneath the surface like so many times before. No, this was different. The scars were descending into nothingness; into oblivion; vanishing before Tauriel's sight like smoke.

Thranduil's pale, sharp features took on a look of wonder and amazement when the sensation ceased. His hand remained in limbo, half afraid to brush over where the old wounds had resided. What would he be now without his scars? Thranduil's hand clamped up, so it was Tauriel who confirmed their disappearance.

The king hitched a breath as Tauriel's smooth, petal-like fingers grazed over the one-time sensitive flesh, gliding from the dip in his cheek to the corner of his eye and back down again. Something in his chest swelled under her touch, much like long-forgotten heartstrings being prodded to awaken. He studied her features intently, searching out her meaning, but her touch...

_Her touch._

All too soon, Tauriel lowered her hand, and the loss of her warmth felt like being doused with frigid water. Thranduil waited, his heart beating wildly against his chest, as her accepting eyes peered up into his.

"You did it," she said, her face alight with renewed energy. "You did it, hîr vuin. You released some of that inner pain you've been carrying for too long. How do you feel?"

Thranduil combed through the many thoughts rummaging through his mind and finally settled on one word. "Free. I... I feel free."

* * *

**A/N #2: A bit of a breakthrough for our Elven king. ****Many thanks, as always, to those of you who review. It really helps.  
**


	10. Ani Leyra (Release Me)

**A/N: ****I hope you like a certain development here...**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Ani Leyra (Release Me)**

* * *

Legolas hiked up a flight of stairs at exemplary speed, taking the steps three at a time without hindrance or pause, unmindful of where he was going, only that he had to get as far away from where he had been. The prince knew the countless twists and turns of his kingdom—his _father_'s kingdom, rather, for it no longer held the same sentimental value for him—as one memorises every intricacy of a bow. Every curve and dip along the way led him deeper into its maze, filled with familiar spots—from overlooked darkened corners that held fragments of ethereal beauty to mesmerising archways and architecture unmatched by Elves of other settlements.

Home was truly a magnificent splendour, though its presence nowadays contained unresolved resentment and pain for Prince Legolas, who found himself at its twinge-filled beck and call this evening. He hadn't dreamt what he saw, and there was no taking the agonising truth of it back...

_No matter where you roam, Legolas_, his mind heeded as he stubbornly trampled further and further through the underground caves of Mirkwood, _it will follow you. You know this. _

Legolas turned a sharp corner to his right and came upon an elaborate labyrinth of warped vines which sprung out of the earth, braiding into an extensive canopy above his head. He halted at its centre, staring down a sinister-looking shadow on the opposite end of a long corridor, suddenly unable to move another step.

_No... That was real; it was all real._

Legolas tightly set his jaw. A clench in his chest was forming and gaining strength, forcing him to stagger and turn away from the path that lay ahead. His eyes came to rest on the ground, mournful and not really staring at anything in particular. Nothing but dirt and earth lay at his feet.

The sore picture manifesting in his head, and growing clearer and more certain by the second, wouldn't cease to be, no matter how far he travelled in a vain attempt to push it from his mind.

Why had he gone in search of his father? Why hadn't he simply held back at the celebration instead of pursuing Tauriel, too curious not to follow her as she made to slip away from the party unnoticed?

_You _had _to follow her. You couldn't leave well enough alone. Your emotions will be your undoing._

Legolas had indeed trailed after the redheaded beauty as she snuck away from the merry celebration intended for his return. They hadn't spoken much at the gathering, though Legolas was beginning to wonder if Tauriel was purposely avoiding him. Had their discussion earlier that day not gone considerably well? Had he not been on his best behaviour, making sure not to bring up any delicate matters pertaining to their past history; or the fact that his feelings for her were unchanged?

_No... All had been well._

For whatever reasons unbeknownst to Legolas, Tauriel never sought him out at the party, instead opting for silence and discretion when, after a short while, she crept away and headed in the direction of the king's personal chambers. As Legolas tracked her footsteps, reverting in and out of the shadows and keeping a distance so as not to be noticed, he hadn't thought the Elleth's destination peculiar—at first—given her role as one of his father's personal guards and that, in all likelihood, she was probably about to start her shift.

What Legolas had strolled in on had been most untoward, however. Not in an Age would he have suspected what he encountered as he tiptoed inside his father's bedroom. It was an excruciating sight that now plagued his mind: Tauriel standing before Thranduil on his back balcony, her small hand, fragile and perfectly feminine, cradling one side of the king's face. A tenderness lingered in that gentle caress of hers. Had it been innocent, the mirroring look the two shared wouldn't have left the prince paralysed.

Legolas had never seen his father that open before, so completely exposed to another who wasn't either him or his late mother; but, on this evening, Thranduil had blossomed like a delicate bud before Tauriel's eyes—of all Elleths to expose himself to—and shared with her his long denied, true self. He gazed down at the much shorter Tauriel as though her touch contained the secret key to the unlocking of his heart. Those crystal blue irises, normally cold and unfeeling, had appeared desperate, as if pining for that precious hand to never withdraw from his cheek.

_And Tauriel..._

The figurative blade in Legolas's heart wrenched deeper. To glance Tauriel's returning expression had been the worst of it. The one individual who had so strongly averted Legolas's affections, never able to care for him as he hoped she one day might—_And _still _hoped, you fool!_—had stared up at his own father with an unspoken but deeply moving translation that only two hearts that have connected as one can share: love.

That gut-wrenching, achingly soft expression written in Tauriel's eyes was indisputable, no matter how desperate Legolas was to not believe its existence. His father? She was in love with his _father_? He had spotted that love-struck sickness in Tauriel before—with Kíli, the departed Dwarf—and, tonight, it would seem the aim of all the prince's stars meant to jerk his heart ever more, until he could no longer breathe; until he could no longer turn away from what was inescapable, no matter how far he roamed: the unrequited love he would forever harbour.

_My father? _Legolas repeated in disbelief. _She... She loves _him_?_

Legolas had crept out of Thranduil's bedroom before he could chance being spotted by either party. He had no destination in mind, only to run as fast as his nimble legs would carry him. Along his route, he wrestled with astonishment, then denial, and eventually the pervasive sting of hurt and bitterness took over.

_How could this be?_

In his heart, Legolas may have managed to come to terms with the sorrowful notion that Tauriel might never return his affections; but he certainly hadn't anticipated her falling for the king...

_Of all Elves!_ _My _father_! _

For the eternal life of him, it made no bloody sense. Hadn't it been Thranduil who stuck a wedge between Legolas and their one-time Captain of the Guard centuries ago, shutting down Legolas's feelings for the 'lowly Silvan Elleth'? Hadn't _he_ been the one to tell Legolas none-too-kindly to get over such 'foolishness' and turn his attentions elsewhere? Hadn't it been the king to put it into Tauriel's mind long ago that she didn't stand a chance with the prince; that she wasn't good enough for him?

Although he may have had little justification in being infuriated with his father for his own irrational feelings towards Tauriel, for Thranduil was likely just as stunned, if not entirely befuddled, by his change of heart, the disgruntlement running rampant through the prince's mind was acute.

_He's falling for her...and she for him! You could see it! But...how? How is that possible?_

"_Why_?" Legolas snapped aloud in Elvish, his trembling hands curling into balls at his sides.

There was no question that Legolas felt entirely blindsided. Sure, Tauriel had spoken more fondly of his father earlier that morning than she had in the past, but..._love_? There had been no trace of it in her eyes or her voice or in her general demeanour when she spoke of the king. How had he missed the signs?

_You should never have left!_ Legolas cursed himself. _If you'd never ran off to avoid your own feelings for her, maybe nothing might have struck up between them!_

Legolas kicked a bit of dirt with the toe of his boot, unaware of breathing heavily. Had it been a mistake to leave home? He had felt so in his gut when a messenger from Mirkwood unexpectedly tracked him down to inform him about his father's recent struggles, but to come back only to discover something far more pernicious was afoot...

_Love! Between Tauriel and...Ada?_

There was only one way to obtain the answers Legolas so urgently needed: he had to confront them both, either together or separately, it didn't matter.

_But how? Has it been established? Are they even aware of it...yet?_

Legolas chewed the inside of his cheek. There was no way he could continue living under the same roof as his broken father and the bold, breathtaking Tauriel who he still languished such deep feelings for, especially should they be falling for each other.

_No way, no how._

* * *

A weighty silence stretched between Thranduil and Tauriel, who seemed to think twice before taking a step back and bowing her head. Her hand had retreated from his face, the unsightly scars moments ago having miraculously vanished, leaving a trail of smooth, alabaster skin in its place. Her green eyes, thoughtful and deep, studied the king, but Thranduil found himself on unfamiliar footing. Normally an Elf of not only great wisdom but keen insight, he was finding Tauriel nearly impossible to read.

Her expression was kind and considerate, but something—something he couldn't quite pin down to one particular emotion—was warring behind the eyes. A reflexed hand started towards her but was caught midway. Thranduil brought the same outstretched hand quickly back to his side.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel began quietly after what felt like an eternity, "your son's party... They're all waiting for you. Do you feel well enough to attend?" When he said nothing, she pressed, "If you don't then I can send along a message for you."

"I..." Thranduil started and stopped. Reaching a decision, he took a moment to resituate his thin, silver crown atop his head and to straighten his shoulders. "There's no need to send word. I shall go."

Tauriel's lips broke out in a soft smile at the good news. "Very well."

"Will you..." Thranduil's voice trailed off as Tauriel started to turn away, prompting her to look up at him, confused; she leaned closer. "Will you...accompany me?"

Tauriel's smile lengthened. "Of course."

Issuing another polite bow, she started to step behind him, as was customary, but a warm hand touching her unexpectedly made her jump. She froze, peering down at the large hand that now encased her wrist.

"No," she vaguely heard the king command, though gently, "not like that. You may walk beside me, Tauriel."

Tauriel chanced raising her head and was shaken by the king's open, complacent expression. He seemed relieved that she hadn't recoiled; that she would agree to something that was, ultimately, her duty.

Slowly, those pale fingers unlaced from around her wrist, though not without briefly grazing her hand. Tauriel's breath hitched and her stomach erupted into nervous fluttering, their contact having triggered something inside her that she was finally waking up to. She hoped her nerves weren't obvious.

_Again, why are you blushing, Tauriel?_

In a futile attempt to shut down her racing thoughts, Tauriel shifted and waited for the king to lead the way. He stared at her for another short pause, flexing and curling his hand a couple times at his side, though Tauriel didn't notice, and gradually moved from his balcony. Tauriel matched the king's pace and they fell into a comfortable synch and silence with each other, strolling out of his bedroom and down several dimly lit corridors before reaching the celebration which was now in full swing.

Several harps and flutes signalled their arrival, along with the general clatter and clinking of glasses and merry conversation in process. Tauriel glided aside to let King Thranduil through first, wishing to avoid catching anyone's critical eye. The king was announced and respectfully acknowledged by his people, all of whom bowed their heads low and raised their glasses to him. It was the first time since being taken ill that King Thranduil had made a public appearance.

The music and chatter resumed, and Tauriel wasn't aware of holding her breath whilst the king ordered a tumbler of water from one of the servers. She was relieved he hadn't requested wine—or appeared all that bothered by the smell and sight of it, though she suspected it had to be difficult for him on some level—and intentionally followed him about the room as he mingled. She was surprised when, after several minutes of deliberately trailing at his back, King Thranduil ceased walking, snatched a tumbler of red wine from one of the server's trays, and thrust it into her hand.

"Oh! That's all right. Water would do, my Lord," she made to calmly intervene.

"You needn't go to such lengths on my behalf."

"But I'm on duty—"

"Not tonight, Tauriel. Please, enjoy yourself. I insist."

Tauriel went quiet. King Thranduil's mouth looked stern but the eyes... _The eyes._ They were glistening, perhaps even smiling, unless Tauriel was gravely mistaken.

In silence, he raised his glass to hers and brought his tumbler of water to his lips. Tauriel permitted herself a miniscule sip once the king drank from his cup but made a point of keeping the contents out of sight.

"What are we toasting to?" she inquired, returning the smile she detected in the king's eyes. "To your son?"

"To him, yes," said King Thranduil, lowering his tumbler and cupping it with both hands, "but also to you."

"Me?" Tauriel's eyes flashed, perplexed.

The king gave a slow, appreciative bow, his intense eyes never diverting from hers. "Naturally. Your assistance and hard work these past many days have been...most helpful."

Once again astonished by such forward gratitude, Tauriel couldn't prevent the severe blush that flooded her pointed ears and face. "It's hardly 'hard', my Lord," she tried to make light of the fact, though King Thranduil was unconvinced.

"Surely, it must be. I'm not so easily persuaded to do what's in my own best interest...at times."

Tauriel chanced a grin. "I have to agree there. But, again, I've only ever wanted to help."

King Thranduil firmly nodded this time and took another sip of water. "I realise that now..."

"I'm glad you do, hîr vuin. And your son..." Tauriel tore her gaze from the king's to make a brief sweep of the crowded room, dumbfounded to not find eye or hair of Prince Legolas anywhere. "He's not here," she determined after a moment and immediately turned to the king for further instructions.

King Thranduil, whose graceful features had morphed from relaxation to worry in a second's notice, was also surveying the room and had reached the same conclusion. He cast his tumbler aside, as did Tauriel, and hastily motioned to one of his personal guards stationed across the room.

"Shall I go in search of him, my Lord?" Tauriel suggested as the king turned away from her to give those very directions to another.

"No," he insisted in kind and made a gesture with his hand towards all of the commotion, "please stay and enjoy yourself, Tauriel. Consider it your night off."

With that parting assurance, King Thranduil shot her a terse but friendly smile and turned to leave. Tauriel watched the king saunter over to his thrown, the concern he wore rather apparent, and couldn't blame him. It was strange that Prince Legolas should abruptly disappear from his own celebration. Tauriel had seen him not even an hour ago, so what might have prompted him to leave his own party was beyond her comprehension.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," came an amused chuckle to her left. Tauriel turned her head to receive a courteous bow from Lathron, whose warm-hearted eyes glided from her face to her empty hands. "And not taking pleasure in drink, I see?"

"As aren't you," she returned with a sweet smile. Lathron drew his arms behind his back and joined her at her side. "How are you, Lathron?"

Lathron peered down at Tauriel, his expression reserved but untroubled. "I'm quite well, Tauriel, and yourself?"

"Well...as can be expected," she settled for disclosing, remembering the closeness she and the secretary had long shared; he reminded her of the father she had lost.

"It's good to have you back." Heartened by such words, as they had rarely been afforded to her since her return, Tauriel made to look up at Lathron with appreciation but found his stare had diverted to the king, now seated several feet away and in hushed conversation with an advisor. "I'm grateful for the assistance you've lent the king over the past week."

"Oh," Tauriel made an awkward noise, "well, as I've explained to others, including the king, I've only wanted to help is all."

"I believe you." Lathron seemed to choose his next words carefully. "I find myself relieved that you're back, Tauriel. It should be good for him."

Tauriel's eyes returned to the wise Elf, their conveyance unsure. "'Him'?" she questioned outright, to which Lathron spoke matter-of-factly.

"The king, of course." He resumed his mindful attention of her. "I think he'll make great strides now that you're back."

"How so?"

"Myself and a few others have been striving to get the king on board with heightening security."

"Security?" Tauriel angled her head. "What's prompting more forces at our gates? The spiders?"

"Not our gates," Lathron corrected. "At the outskirts. It would be even greater if we could get the king to consent to sending some of our troops south." His eyes honed in on Tauriel, his voice lowering to a whisper, "Sauron is on the move."

Tauriel started where she stood. "Are - Are you certain?"

To her dismay, Lathron's acknowledgment was grim at best. "Lord Elrond informed King Thranduil weeks before your return."

"_Weeks ago_?" Although Tauriel had had her own suspicions for months, particularly during her period of banishment, as any word that trickled her way hadn't been favourable, she had dawdled on the precipice of whether it was believable or mere hearsay. "But...he was weakened. He was defeated!"

"Defeated, yes, but not beaten. He's the cause of this latest wave of Darkness; many are certain of it. If only the _king _would recognise the danger..."

Tauriel and Lathron turned their considerate attention from one another to their sovereign again, who was blissfully unaware of being scrutinised. "Has he given a reason?" Tauriel inquired softly, surmising what answer was likely to come.

"Loss of life; the probability of more bloodshed. He doesn't want us to be caught up in another war—"

"But we _will_ be a part of it," Tauriel interrupted, speaking with feeling, "whether we wish it or not. Surely, the king recognises that?"

Lathron lifted an eyebrow and eyed Tauriel sidelong. "To be frank, I'm not so sure. Denial is a powerful ally. I've hope that, now that Prince Legolas has returned, he might finally be convinced to see reason but..." He turned from the waist to gaze at Tauriel fully, displaying an air of confidence Tauriel didn't follow. "You might have more of an impact than any of us, Tauriel."

A slow realisation dawned upon the Elleth's still face. "You want _me_ to convince him."

"If you're willing to try?"

"Lathron, the king has—and always will—do as he deems to be the right thing—"

"And yet, you seem to have gotten through to him."

Stumped by Lathron's persistence, Tauriel furrowed her brow. "Yes, but that doesn't mean he'll willingly listen to anything I say."

"The king obviously trusts your counsel."

"Even if he does, what makes you believe he'll actually listen to _me_?"

As if to purposely mangle her uncertainty further, Lathron's stringent mouth broke out in a knowing smirk. "Is your intention _really_—and wholly—to simply help the king in your new position?"

Confounded by the question, and by whatever diluted meaning presumably lay behind it, Tauriel frowned. "Of course it is, Lathron. Are you suggesting my intentions aren't honourable?"

"Not at all, Tauriel, but...is that all?" Stealing the silence that followed, Lathron pushed gently, bending nearer so as not to risk being overheard, "Think about it, Tauriel. Search your feelings. I'm sure you'll come to the right conclusion."

Before Tauriel could rummage through her convoluted brain well enough to respond, Lathron had slunk away from her side, disappearing into the noisy crowd of partygoers wearing that same insightful smile. His words and parting look were enough to root Tauriel's feet to the floor, preventing any escape from the reeling emotions wrestling to the surface all over again.

_Was he suggesting what I_ think _he was suggesting?_ Tauriel's fetching countenance regressed, wavering between mystification and a state of alarm as the recesses of her heart fought their way through. _My intentions_ are _honourable! I care about the king, that is all! I just... I care. That's it, surely? Surely... _

_Oh...no. _

Tauriel's eyes, wide and panic-stricken, stole a discreet glance at King Thranduil, who still hadn't noted her intense regard. Her legs sprung to life and took off, shuffling around tables, chairs, and Elves to make for an exit.

_Anywhere but here!_

In the blink of an eye, Tauriel was gone. The next moment that King Thranduil chanced a peek in Tauriel's direction, his blue irises switched from what would have been comfort at spotting the redhead's presence to disquiet and uncertainty. Not only was his son now missing, but Tauriel had left the party as well.

_Why?_

Unfamiliar jealousy gnawed at his insides, its hold strengthening the longer the night wore on. Why should he feel suspicious—or even angry—with his son and Tauriel, particularly with both of them being absent from the night's celebration? Were they not old friends, and weren't such relations perfectly suitable?

_You know why it's eating at you, Thranduil_, his mind accosted, not allowing him peace until he reluctantly made it back to his chambers in the wee hours of the morning; the fingers that had been grasping his tumbler for hours now unknowingly clamped on his pillow. _Try as you may, you won't be able to suppress your feelings for all of eternity._

"Watch me," he hissed between clenched teeth.

Luckily, in the stillness and silence of his room, no one could hear the king's words which seemed to have stemmed from nowhere.

* * *

Prince Legolas's disappearing act defied logic. It had been three days since the celebration meant to mark his return had led to his disappearance, and yet, there was still no sign of the young Elf.

For the king, he was losing hope of tracking his son down to any part of the kingdom's secure confinement. Every nook and cranny had been searched and Legolas hadn't turned up anywhere, forcing Thranduil to finally deduce that his son may have very well chosen to abandon him—for good this time. After all, their last exchange in his chambers days before had been heated and unresolved, so, to the king's pessimistic manner of thinking, his son's abrupt departure was making more nauseating sense by the hour, despairing as it was to take in.

For Tauriel, Prince Legolas's leaving was nettlesome and simply didn't compute. She had seen him an hour before he vanished, as if into thin air, and, though some had come forward to confide in witnessing the prince sneaking out of the party at one point, no one had followed him or could surmise where he might have run off to.

_He wouldn't just up and go. He only just arrived! And he certainly wouldn't depart without saying goodbye to the king or me, would he? Unless I mean littler to him than I ever assumed?_

Tauriel wrestled with that internal conflict for much of Prince Legolas's prolonged absence. She still wasn't sure where the two of them stood in terms of their friendship. What had once been solid had splintered when the prince confessed harbouring deeper feelings for her. Their recent exchange had gone smoothly, but lingering questions remained, obscuring matters between them.

There was also growing concern for the king's welfare and how he might be internalising his son's raw disappearance. Tauriel made a point of starting her shifts earlier than the norm, staying later than was probably necessary, and asking after the king at every opportunity; but King Thranduil was rather mute and unforthcoming, not just with Tauriel but with anyone who inquired after how he was faring.

Any brief exchanges in which Tauriel made to test the king's emotional state led to little resolve or reassurance. Too often the king requested to be alone, refusing any audience that stopped by to request something of him, unless it happened to contain news of the prince.

Tauriel, without pressing her luck too hard, managed to worm her way into the Elf's room by the second day, however. How she was able to was a mystery to most, including her, though the nagging at the back of her mind—and in her heart—kept the answer under wraps.

Even if King Thranduil mostly went about his business in silence—answering correspondences or staring out his balcony whilst offering little by way of conversation—he seemed to take quiet consolation in Tauriel's presence and didn't push her from him. She was grateful for that, though he seemingly didn't know.

On the third evening, and with still no sign of his son, King Thranduil, at last, allowed his forbearance to fall. Turning to Tauriel from his seated position at his writing desk, he let his broad shoulders visibly slump and his eyes to turn downcast, even a touch misty. The way he called her name into the stillness of his room—so gentle and unassuming—melted off his tongue like the sacred substance he now adamantly denied himself. Tauriel was struck by it and had to hold her breath.

"He's gone, Tauriel," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically shaking. "He's _gone_..."

"Don't lose hope, my Lord," Tauriel tried to reason, though the king's suffering was palpable; she stepped closer without awareness, until she was standing directly in front of him. "He'll turn up, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"You really believe that?"

There was no malice in that challenging question, only melancholy. It caused Tauriel to nod her head more emphatically.

"Yes, I do."

"We fought that day... The day he left."

King Thranduil raked his fingers through his long tresses, missing Tauriel's reaction of surprise. He sighed heavily and peered down at his feet, his frown deepening in the process.

"Even so, my Lord, I don't believe he would take off without telling anyone."

King Thranduil raised his eyes to Tauriel's, the doubt he carried quite patent. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all that might explain this away?"

"I'm afraid not, hîr vuin. Although..." Suddenly recalling a small portion of their conversation from days earlier, Tauriel mindlessly reached out a hand to squeeze the king's shoulder; he didn't flinch or pull away but hung onto every word she was about to utter. "I confess, when last we spoke, he made mention of not staying on for long."

"He did?"

The question came out as a pained sort of whisper, and Tauriel swallowed hard. "Yes, but _still_, hîr vuin, none of this makes sense. It goes against his character to take off without so much as a farewell."

"I hope you're right..."

It took Tauriel a moment to blink down at her hand and acknowledge the much larger one that now covered hers. Somehow, without fully realising his move, the king's fingers had threaded themselves through hers. He seemed to have noticed their contact at the same moment Tauriel did.

For several heart-pounding seconds, the two Elves stood at a standstill, eyes locked on each other without blinking, stricken over what might transpire next. The king was the first to make a move. He bolted out of his chair, sending Tauriel's hand flying off of him. She staggered back a step but righted her balance.

"My apologies," he all but mumbled into his chest, drawing his hair forward in a pained attempt to avoid eye contact. He twisted about but, catching the dainty hand half extended towards him, stopped himself short of running from the room.

"No, please," Tauriel blurted out; her voice was much fainter than usual.

Ensuring that the king wasn't about to cast her out before she could inch any nearer, Tauriel braved a daring step closer into his personal space again. Her heart was lodged in her throat as her fingers reached forward to brush the front of King Thranduil's ruby-coloured robes, tracing the intricate stitch patterns of the finely woven fabric; but it wasn't the cloth that had Tauriel spellbound. Her fingers drew upward, feeling the Elven king's heart tapping rapidly against his chest. Its persistent drum was as excited and jittery as her own. His breathing, too, had turned erratic and tickled her cheeks, for their faces had drawn so close to one another in a matter of moments. Some invisible, enticing pull had suddenly brought them together.

"Tauriel," King Thranduil repeated her name with such uncommon frailty that a shiver shot down her spine.

Although tongue-tied, Tauriel's lips formed the desperate words that had been yearning to come out. "May I?"

Tauriel awaited the slightest hesitation from the king that might slam her sentiments into the ground. She needed him to grant her this one appeal and, to her utter relief, King Thranduil didn't withdrawal or cower from her, break eye contact or shake his head. Rather, he lured Tauriel onto the tips of her toes by coaxing her forward with both hands woven around her arms, pressing her lithe frame against his much sturdier form.

With that bit of encouragement, their lips finally connected, their contact, at first, apprehensive and shy. Prickling curiosity, as well as the sudden overwhelming urge to deepen the kiss, sparked and spurred them on. What began as a wispy, cautious exploration of one another quickly turned heated and intense, consuming and unable to be stopped.

Before long, Tauriel had the king's face cradled between both hands and, she, forcibly pushed against his warm body by a hand that pressed on her back, keeping her close. Their eyes shot open, glistening and aroused, with their mouths itching to sample more of one another's taste.

Something had them hesitating to continue, though. Some_one_, rather, was watching. Their gazes sharpened and reluctantly tore away from each other to eye the king's bedroom door, now ajar. Prince Legolas stood just beyond, his expression cool and occluded. He stepped inside and, slowly, the door shut itself behind him.

"We need to talk."

* * *

**A/N #2: I couldn't wait any longer. But it's my story, so there!  
**

**If you're still reading, please review. I'd love to hear from you.**


	11. Yallume (At last)

**A/N: This chapter refused to come together as quickly as I would have liked, but, regardless, it's _finally_ here!  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Yallume (At last)**

* * *

Tauriel's heart thudded with dread. She stood, paralysed, tempted to both flee and challenge the prince as he approached her and his father, eyes darting from one to the other. His steps were reluctant, yet purposeful, and those piercing blue eyes...

_His eyes. _

An unnatural flicker of resentment and knowingness, fuelled by underlying sour emotions not yet unleashed, was rising to the surface. Tauriel braced herself for whatever ill reaction was surely coming, though there was little time to consider how she might reply. She found herself wanting nothing more than to deflect her gaze. Her cheeks burned a hot red, seemingly shooting the temperature in the room up to an uncomfortable level.

How had she been so careless as to forget that she and King Thranduil were never alone, not even within the Elven king's own closed-off, private quarters? She had suspected that the prince might turn up at some point...

_But now? Of all times to make an appearance!_

There was little persuasion required to convince the three of them that Prince Legolas's timing couldn't have been worse. Then again, it also seemed too precise—and unfortunate—to be considered entirely spontaneous.

_That_ put Tauriel further on edge. _Has he been watching? Has he known?_

"Legolas..."

Tauriel almost missed the king's overtaxed, cautionary address, having become so engrossed in her thoughts. She watched as he drifted around her, crimson robes billowing gracefully behind him, whilst his hand loosely brushed hers. It was too fleeting for Prince Legolas to notice, but there was no covering up what the prince _had_ witnessed for himself: the formerly banished Captain of the Guard and the King of the Woodland Realm sharing a private, passionate kiss not meant for anyone's eyes, least of all his.

Tauriel's feet had moulded to the floor, unable to move. With that brief, considerate touch of his, though, King Thranduil made it known that he didn't want her to retreat; in fact, he wished her to remain precisely where she was. For herself, Tauriel was conflicted.

"Ada," Prince Legolas began, his voice irrefutably disenchanted. The outlines along his fair face hardened, unfeeling as he glanced from one guilty party to the other.

"Legolas," King Thranduil spoke again, his voice stronger and more collected this time, "please... Let me explain—"

"Yes, Ada, please _do_ explain. It seems much has transpired since I've been away." His gaze sharpened, honing in on Tauriel, who purposely kept her eyes on the floor. "Didn't take you long, did it?" he snipped, and, with those few stinging words, he received Tauriel's full-on stare. Her eyes flew to his and, after recovering, they morphed into angry slits.

"I find your insinuation unjust, my Lord—"

"'Insinuation'?" Legolas chuckled a bitter laugh; the sound was peculiar, forbidding and out of character. "I saw you both! With my own eyes! Do not try to lie to me!"

"Son, calm yourself." The king held up a hand to call for his silence, but Prince Legolas clenched his jaw in turn.

"I _am_ calm."

"You're not yourself," Tauriel insisted, keeping her expression and voice as cool as possible.

"Neither are _you_!" he argued, darting daggers for a glare at the pair of them.

King Thranduil stepped forward with an iron determination this time that Tauriel found impressive. "What's spun between Tauriel and I was not...wilful or expected." He paused to peer over his shoulder at her, a softened strength in his eyes. "It just...happened."

"_That's it_?" The prince looked on in disbelief, and his father returned his question—accusation, rather—with an affirmative nod.

"It is. None of this," he gestured towards the immobile Elleth at his back, "was ever meant to take place, Legolas."

In the moments of not uttering a word, Tauriel rekindled her inner fire and, too, drew forward to be heard. "His Lordship is right, Prince Legolas. I... I hardly understand what's happening here but what you saw... It wasn't planned."

Evidently, Prince Legolas wasn't to be swayed by these explanations. He shook his head as if to rid himself of the painful memory their kiss had inflicted on his soul.

"I thought Tauriel was a 'lowly Silvan Elleth' to you, Ada." King Thranduil's regard suddenly switched, reverting from soft and compassionate to fierce and heated in a heartbeat. "Your words, as I recall, from not too long ago..."

"Legolas—"

"Did you always intend to take her for yourself? Is that why you were constantly trying to dissuade me of my own feelings?"

"Legolas, stop this—"

"Because you couldn't bear the thought of anyone's happiness, least of all mine—or Tauriel's, for that matter—being above your own?"

The intense silence that followed was enough to make Tauriel want to shrink from the prince and that pain hadn't been directed at her—yet. She froze, holding her breath as King Thranduil glared his son down, no longer able to withhold an emotional response.

"That's utter nonsense, Legolas! You know perfectly well that I've always had the best of intentions for you!"

"Have you?" The prince angled his head, giving his father a withering, measured look over. "Because now, I'm afraid, I can hardly believe you."

Prickled by his son's expression of mistrust, King Thranduil went quiet and still. The prince turned to Tauriel again, his wounded pride and regard for her wrestling with the inner urge to lash out; to cause pain towards the heart that had broken his. King Thranduil stood by, silently despising his son's obvious heartache of which he knew himself to be a partial contributor.

"And you," Prince Legolas addressed Tauriel, his tone wilful, hurt, "do you love my father?" At her blink of surprise, followed by uneasy silence, he repeated the question with more emphasis, "Well? _Do you_?"

Slowly, King Thranduil turned his head, and his and Tauriel's gazes briefly met each other's before the redhead felt compelled to look away. She knew she should answer, but the words had clamped up on her tongue. She didn't want to gaze upon that unusually open, delicate expression the king wore, nor the pained countenance of the prince who, as far as she was concerned, should never have fallen in love with her.

Alas, there was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide from either of these two unintended, prominent fixtures in her life. It was all Tauriel could think of—the desire to escape—and yet, her feet refused to break from the ground.

"I..." Tauriel struggled to speak, for the words wouldn't come. Finally, after a stifling pause, she answered Prince Legolas with a strained, hushed, "I hardly know..."

The prince's brow furrowed. "You don't _know_?"

"I - I haven't thought—"

"Surely, with my father being in the fragile state he is," Prince Legolas pressed rather jarringly, despite the flicker of ire lighting up his father's eyes, "you might have considered what you were risking, Tauriel, _before_ kissing the king on the lips."

Tauriel shrunk from Prince Legolas's reproach, flustered by such words. Hadn't she the best of intentions for her king? Hadn't she known how vulnerable, both emotionally and physically, he was right now and proven herself considerate of his condition? Hadn't _he_ kissed _her_, too?

"As I've said, Prince Legolas, it - it wasn't something planned—"

"And yet, you haven't known for certain whether you loved him or not _before_ choosing to make a pass on him. My father. _Your king_!"

"Son, stop this," King Thranduil pleaded with as much verve as he could command from the prince, sensing Tauriel's angst manifesting at his back.

Unfortunately, Tauriel had finally reached her breaking point. Her legs sprung to life, wishing to escape this plight. She was stopped in her tracks by Prince Legolas, however, who effortlessly seized her by the wrist before she could get away. She tried to wrench her arm free, but his grip was stronger than she anticipated. She expected him to start shouting at her, to make her feel guiltier and more confounded than she was already experiencing, but it wasn't he who spoke next.

"Tauriel..."

King Thranduil's address was low, faint, as he called out to her in the midst of her struggle to get away. She ceased wrestling against the prince and whipped her head around, finding dejection and uncertainty in her sovereign's eyes as she had never witnessed before. It frightened her; she couldn't bear it. This confined space was sweltering, closing in on her, and her heart was about to bound right out of her chest if she didn't get out of this room, and fast.

With one last hard jerk of her arm, Tauriel broke free of Prince Legolas's grasp. She sped off, not daring to glance back over her shoulder. She ran as far and as furiously as her legs would carry her, sprinting for what felt like hours; perhaps it was.

But she refused to look or turn back.

* * *

_He's right! The prince is right! What have I done?_

Tauriel had lost count hours ago how many times she had asked herself that damaging question. Having reached the deepest parts of the caves, she now simply paced without pause, each relentless step pushing her further and further along the kingdom's many winding, dark staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere; to none of the answers she sought.

Perhaps she might become lost forever within these walls, never to make her way out again into the light, to see the heavens and the stars. _Wouldn't that be a relief? _her conscience snorted, not helping matters. _You can evade responsibility or dealing with your damned emotions for the rest of your days down here._

Tauriel ceased walking. Infuriated, she kicked the ground and pounded the wall with her fist. Her knuckles prickled after making contact with solid stone, but it was too dark to tell whether her hand was bleeding. It didn't matter, though; it was the least of her concerns.

_Oh, but you kissed him! The _king_! You actually _kissed _him!_

Tauriel sighed and scrubbed at her face, jolted that her cheeks were wet from tears. She wasn't aware of apparently having been crying, and for some time.

_And didn't the king kiss you back? _her mind reminded her, sending a strange flutter of emotions flying up from the pit of her stomach.

_Yes..._

_Didn't you enjoy it? Didn't he enjoy it?_

_Yes... I believe so. _

_Then why are you punishing yourself? _

Although she felt strongly compelled to react physically to this emotional struggle, Tauriel forced composure and averted from kicking or punching the earth. _I couldn't answer Prince Legolas's question! I couldn't give him—or the king—a straight answer! What on earth is wrong with me?_

_Because you were unprepared, Tauriel._

_ NO! __That's a whole lot of rubbish! If you love someone, shouldn't you know it? Shouldn't you admit it?_

_You know why you've been too afraid to say it, Tauriel..._

With that mental admission, Tauriel's stubborn determination to avoid the conflict within crumbled. She collapsed against the wall closest to her, sinking to the floor in a quiet, snivelling heap.

_Yes_, of course she knew why she was so terrified to try to love again or to so much as speak the name of the Elf aloud to herself, let alone anyone else, who had so unexpectedly claimed her heart: Kíli.

A stabbing pang in the middle of Tauriel's chest brought a hand dashing up to clutch it tightly; to unsuccessfully push the pain away.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't _supposed_ to fall in love with her king. Her heart, when Tauriel had allowed it to open up to another centuries after losing her parents under such abrupt, tragic circumstances, had been meant for the handsome Dwarf. He intended to fulfil his promise of making her his Forever, and Tauriel had permitted herself to believe in that promise. It was to be her shortcoming in the perilous navigation that was Love. She had authorized hope into her world, believing that it would all work out, which had been a most devastating move.

Ultimately, Tauriel paid the price for her blind aspirations. She lost not only her heart but the love she had bargained on. Kíli was _supposed_ to be her beloved, and finding love again after his death wasn't _supposed_ to ever take place. She certainly hadn't gone out of her way to seek out more gut-wrenching pain. She had avowed that she would never be so reckless or foolish with her heart again.

Yet Love _did_ manage to find her once more, despite all of Tauriel's painstaking efforts to close herself off to its unremitting sting. Tauriel hardly knew how to accept the mystery that had become her attraction towards King Thranduil. There could be no disputing her sentiments now, though; now that she was being forced to face them directly. Her affections could no longer be considered borne out of a noble quest to help, for that kiss had solidified so much more.

_That kiss..._ Tauriel shivered achingly at its remembrance; mere kindness didn't kiss like that. _How had this_ happened_?_

She and King Thranduil couldn't have been more ill-suited for one another. The king was cold and detached in every aspect of life, slow to act but swift to burn another should they displease him. Tauriel was wholly unchained, both in tongue and in movement, and, with the exception of matters of the heart, an entirely open book.

The king had banished her for her boldness, for speaking her truth and knowing it might hurt him to hear but believing her course to be the right one. It _had_ been what he needed to hear. Tauriel had taken everything about her sovereign at face value, only to recently discover that the Elf beneath the frigid exterior was much realer, complex, and far warmer than she had ever believed possible.

_He's right, though_, her mind and heart reprimanded as Tauriel wiped at her tears. _You_ are _a lowly, Silvan Elleth... You haven't the noble background. You haven't the _right_ to love him as a mere Elf. He's _not _your equal._

_And yet, you do..._ _You _do _love him. _

"Despite his arrogance and gall," Tauriel mumbled, curling her arms around her knees and clutching them to her chest, "despite my own lowly background, despite everything..."

Tauriel stared into the darkness for some time, letting the weight of her own confession sink in. Her breathing evened and, slowly, the tears ended as well. King Thranduil's eyes—that terribly haunting look she had glimpsed just before her retreat—wrenched Tauriel's heart in two.

_He thinks you've rejected him_, Tauriel realised; horrified, she staggered to stand at once. _You have to tell him._

_But... But how?_

_ He deserves to know how you feel, Tauriel._

_ But he's also the king! And I'm no one!_

_ He still deserves the truth._

Tauriel hesitated. She had never been faced with a harder decision than in this moment. Facing down an affronted, aggravated King Thranduil at the Lonely Mountain again and declaring him a loveless, heartless sovereign seemed a far better alternative than having to come face to face with the fact that she was in love with him.

_And that he isn't so heartless, after all..._

* * *

Legolas bent over the wooden bannister outside the doors to his father's bedroom, the soft grooves on his forehead showcasing for anyone who might wander nearby that the royal Elf was deep in thought.

The torches lighting several pathways in the distance emitted a warm, inviting glow of the kingdom that the prince had almost forgotten. Home was a truly magnificent splendour...when he stopped to consider all he had chosen to leave behind.

_You never should have left. If you hadn't, none of this would have happened._

Prince Legolas glanced to his left and right, his eyes tracing nothing but empty shadows at his sides. They seemed to match the overall gloom life had taken for him and that, he somewhat lamented, his father was surely experiencing as well.

Legolas had sent the king's personal guards away two days prior when Tauriel vanished into the night like smoke. No one had seen or heard from her since, but the prince didn't go searching her out. He didn't demand their people try to track her down either. He simply stayed put, biding his time, knowing she would have to come face to face with these matters eventually, regardless of the ill desire to do so. Tauriel wasn't the type to back down from a predicament or to cower in a corner, after all; she just needed time to reach the conclusions that Legolas knew to be buried deep inside. Hopefully, the result would be the right course. Thus, he exercised patience.

Thranduil, on the other hand, didn't wait. He didn't put any stake in confronting Tauriel for himself. Instead, he shut himself away in his bedroom, refusing to share his thoughts or acknowledge certain things his son had brought to light once the troubled Elleth left them.

'_Do you love her, Ada?' Legolas had put the question to his father, determined to wiggle an answer out of one of them; but when Thranduil's face remained frigid and impassive, he pressed, with increased frustration, 'What about mother? When did you suddenly decide that you were over her?'_

'_Don't speak to me of your mother,' the king warned, bright irises flashing with suppressed aggression. 'Don't speak to me of matters that you don't understand.'_

_Legolas was brought up short but stepped closer, desperate for clarity. 'If you're toying with Tauriel...'_

'_I'm not 'toying' with anyone! We've told you already that we don't know how this happened, Legolas!'_

'_Ada—'_

'_Wasn't Tauriel's response to your question enough? Will you not be satisfied?'_

_Legolas reared back, perplexed. ''Satisfied'?' The king shot him an indignant look over and turned away, shoulders caving, though not before Legolas glimpsed the forsakenness in Thranduil's eyes. Realising what his father meant, Legolas reached out a hand, but all he was able to grab was air. 'Ada, I'd never wish your heart more broken than it already is...'_

_With his back still turned and his head bowed towards the ground, Thranduil whispered through clenched teeth, 'Then why do you insist on pushing me further away from you?'_

'_That's never been my intent, Ada—'_

'_Then what _was_ your intent this evening?' He paused to inhale deeply. 'To get even? To hurt others because you've been unintentionally hurt?'_

'_To get to the truth,' Legolas emphasised, inching closer still and staring imploringly at the back of his father's blond head. 'Do you love her?' he repeated, unaware of holding his breath as he asked the question again._

_At last, Thranduil met his gaze, but he said nothing. Despite donning the same inscrutable, stone-like expression that was routinely on display for the outside world, Legolas saw straight past the king's façade. To the prince's stunned surprise, Thranduil was, in fact, in love. And feeling sorely undesired._

'_Ada...' Legolas began, though his mouth was parched; his mind was racing a mile a second. 'Since...when?'_

'_I don't know,' the king answered, his tone purposely hushed and devoid of emotion. _

'_But... From the things you used to say about her... From what Tauriel did... I'd have never thought...' Still, Thranduil offered no further explanation, only set his jaw tighter. Although it was pure agony to ask, Legolas had to know, so he put another hard-hitting question to the king. 'Ada, are you certain...that she feels the same?' _

_A muscle in Thranduil's cheek flinched, but that was the only change to his otherwise straight-faced expression. 'You asked her for yourself, did you not?' _

'_Ada, I'm asking _you_.'_

'_I don't know, Legolas!' he snapped, turning away once more and issuing a disgruntled huff._

'_Well, best that you both figure it out, for all our sakes!' Legolas hissed in return, though he hadn't wished to instigate a row. 'I deserve the truth!'_

_Thranduil rubbed at his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. 'I've already told you, son, _I don't know_!'_

'_Well, figure it out!' Legolas spun around with the intent to leave but stopped short of the door. Exercising a much calmer register, he said as he peered at Thranduil over his shoulder, 'I never thought...'_

_Thranduil fully turned towards him, waiting. 'What?'_

_Legolas swallowed. 'I never thought...you could be so heartless, Ada.'_

_A pale hand quickly reached for him, though they were many feet apart. 'Legolas...'_

'_Forget it.' Legolas paused to reflect, his expression most grim. 'It seems we've both found our hearts broken. I just never thought it would be over the same one.'_

_Thranduil stilled, his extended hand falling back to his side. After an extended, silent exchange, Legolas departed without another word, leaving a confounded, wounded Thranduil to wrestle over the same painful subject matter that had aggrieved the prince for too many centuries: Tauriel._

Tonight was another eerily quiet evening in which Legolas stood outside his father's bedroom, contemplating the string of events from the past several days. He still hadn't come to a reasonable conclusion as to how—or why—Tauriel and his father had found solace, affection, whatever it was between them with each other; but he was determined to find out.

The door behind him unexpectedly creaked to life, stirring Legolas from his thoughts. When he turned around, his father was standing before him, dressed in shimmering silver robes that caught fragments of light being cast by the hanging torches along the walls.

"I'm going out," the king stated simply and flew past him.

"Out where?" Legolas questioned, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"I shan't be long," was all the forthcoming Thranduil intended to be. He quickly strode down the corridor and disappeared around a corner.

Legolas didn't stop his father or call after him. He leaned over the bannister again and let his melancholic mind wander.

* * *

Tauriel crouched around bits of high brush, stepping noiselessly over rocks and twigs as she made her way through the Woodland Realm under the cover of darkness. Stepping forward into the clearing once the stone steps to the abandoned tower came into view, she sighed with relief. After being cooped up with her thoughts for too long in the underground caves of Mirkwood, she needed the stars and their guidance this night.

Tauriel had decided, come the morning, she would face the king and the prince, either together or individually, though she prayed for the latter. There was much King Thranduil deserved to hear from her and she would prefer to put things to the prince as gently as possible, preferably without additional audiences in the case of either conversation.

_What a mess you've made of things, Tauriel_, her conscience grumbled as she began climbing the steps to the top, scowling to herself all the while. She wouldn't allow her own mind to browbeat her tonight, though, not with the potential for observing the heavens just ahead of her.

As Tauriel reached the top, a smile having drawn across her lips in anticipation of stargazing, she was startled to discover she wasn't alone. Immediately, the smile faded.

A mere few feet away, and standing at the edge of the tower's rooftop, stood King Thranduil, leaning back with his eyes thoughtfully facing the stars. His silver robes glistened like diamonds under the moonlight, as did his fair hair and skin, much like the previous time she had brought him to this very spot. She would never forget that night...

_No matter what happens from here._

"I had an inkling you might make an appearance," he murmured a moment later, breaking the stillness and sending Tauriel's heart fluttering into an increased rhythm. The king slowly turned his head, piercing eyes fixing themselves on her. They were brighter than usual, glimmering more beautiful on account of the stars' brilliance. "Please, don't let me keep you from enjoying the sky, if that's what you seek."

Tauriel dithered on the edge, completely caught off her guard. Despite having thought of nothing but this moment for the past two days, being confronted by the king—the very individual whom she so deeply cared for, and yet, hadn't fully accepted into her heart until now—was nerve-wracking beyond anything she had ever encountered in her life. Taking on a pack of Orcs right about now paled in comparison to _this_, and she might have gladly taken the ugly, foul beasts instead.

Tauriel's feet gradually found their purpose again and stepped beneath the dazzling display of the night, her red hair illuminating like a wildfire against the blackened sky. She bowed her head, though her eyes wouldn't tear their gaze from his.

"Hîr vuin."

"I believe we're beyond such formalities."

Tauriel hesitated. "Are we?"

King Thranduil peered at her long and hard but then broke eye contact, turning his intense attention towards the stars that transformed his silhouette into a near blinding intensity. Tauriel gulped down the uncomfortable lump now lodged in her throat and tried to speak.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

King Thranduil blinked and acknowledged her wish with a slight nod, bringing his vivid eyes back to hers. "If you wish."

Tauriel treaded closer until her hand was close enough to graze the king's, though she didn't dare attempt it. She let the silence filter between them for a time, trying to instil the courage to, at long last, express what lay in her heart. The stifling silence of unspoken words seemed to make her task all the more difficult, though.

"My Lord?" Tauriel waited for him to return her gaze, finding his irises soft, yet unreadable; to her, they seemed sad, distant, and she hoped there was still time to right that wrong. "I want to apologise...for the other night. I should never have been that bold. Had I had my head on straight..."

"You would never have kissed me," the king finished her uncompleted thought, his features hardening a fraction.

Tauriel shook her head, fighting the urge to glance away. "I'm not so sure I could have resisted...even if I'd truly wanted to."

King Thranduil's eyes danced, whether with hope or dismay, she didn't know. "Do you regret it then?"

"_No_," she blurted out rather hastily, "not at all." At King Thranduil's subsequent look of suspicion, she made to explain herself more clearly, choosing her next words with care. "If I behaved improperly in that moment then I beg your forgiveness, my Lord. The only ill behaviour I wish to reference is my lack of a response to Prince Legolas's question."

"And what question was that? I've forgotten."

The emotional suffering in King Thranduil's cross reply was irrefutable. He ceased staring at her, directing his eyes not at the stars as before but at the hollow ground, with his mouth set in a stringent frown. Tauriel couldn't help but to react. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he didn't so much as rear back or project an affronted air at her for touching him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered; the sincerity to Tauriel's tone of voice led the king's eyes back to hers, now delicate and a much more open display. "I should have been prepared to answer to it, but I wasn't."

King Thranduil raised his chin, as if daring the Elleth to injure him once more. His expression was sharp, unapologetic, but the eyes were remarkably vulnerable as they bore into hers.

"And are you now?" he challenged, barely moving his lips.

Tauriel smiled. Her genuineness—ethereal, sweet, and stunning—shrivelled the king's frost that he had been intent on hanging onto.

"Yes... I believe I am." Tauriel took one more brave step and the front of her warm, petite body brushed against his robes. King Thranduil's tall, lean form become an unmovable sculpture at their close proximity—an imposing statue of ice and light. "Prince Legolas asked me if I was in love with you, hîr vuin, and the truth is..._I am_."

King Thranduil froze, crippled by fear and hope as he hadn't felt in Ages. For several seconds, neither his eyes nor his mouth moved; he merely stared down at Tauriel, bereft of how to properly react.

_Love?_ She _loved_ him?

He felt her fingers curl a little tighter around his arm, her green eyes sweeping his in a frantic, seeking motion. He quickly seized her by both arms, holding her steadily in place.

"You love me?" he asked in awe as if he hadn't heard her correctly and needed the declaration repeated to him in order to make it real.

Tauriel nodded, staring up at him warmly, and her smile broadened, exquisitely lit by the stars. King Thranduil mindlessly tugged the Elleth to him and, in one subtle swoop, she was leaning into his chest, with his sturdy, strong arms embracing her.

"You love me..." the king uttered again, whispering the words tenderly and close to her face; he bent his neck down to meet her lips. "_You love me_..."

He captured her mouth, soaking in the rich, sunny taste of her, and all sense of reason flew to the back of Tauriel's mind. Her lithe form melted into his, accepting the Elf—her king—and all of his imperfections. He murmured the same three words a few more times against her lips, wishing them into perpetual existence, and then the words changed, though the warmth and affection in which they were spoken remained the same.

"I think... _I think I love you, Tauriel_."

For a precious moment, the world stopped spinning and the constellations above ceased moving. A shiver shot down Tauriel's spine as he recounted his love to her once more. She opened her eyes long enough to stare up at him and, in that quiet exchange, she knew it all to be authentic and true.

Tauriel pressed her mouth to the king's, excitedly reiterating his words aloud for her own sweet gratification, willing them into reality as well. To Tauriel and her king, kissing and absorbing as much of one another's lips as possible was paramount, and the heavens were swiftly forgotten.

* * *

**A/N #2: :) **

**There's still the poor prince to deal with, but progress is progress. Please review! Would love to hear from ya'll!  
**


	12. Daro (Stop)

**A/N: Uhhh...hello? *nervous wave* Well, firstly, _yes_, I'm still here and, secondly, I _do_ intend to actually finish this story (and relatively soon, too; or so I hope!). **

**If you're still with me, and have been awaiting an update for as long as it's been, I deeply appreciate you for not abandoning this story. (Also, erm, you might want to refresh your memory on where we're at before diving into the latest installment). **

**All right, now I'll shut up.  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Daro (Stop)**

* * *

Tauriel followed at King Thranduil's heel as they noiselessly retreated back to his sleeping kingdom. It well after midnight when they arrived at the front gates, where two guards standing by granted them entrance without a questionable word. The king's hand slid out of Tauriel's as they passed through the grand oak doors and she frowned at the sudden loss of warmth his touch had been providing till now, until they were back behind locked, carved stone, had hastened around a darkened corner, and his fingers wove through hers again as if they had never parted. Her curious eyes met his, and she could discern from their emotional intensity, which pierced through even the shadiest of corners, that he had no interest in letting go of her hand a second time. She smiled in reply.

Thranduil continued to lead the way through various tunnels, to where Tauriel wasn't certain at first; but then the labyrinths grew familiar again, and Tauriel realised she was being escorted back to her personal quarters. Her frown doubled in reaction to this sore development. She wasn't ready to part ways for the night, for there was still so much to discuss; to ascertain; to acknowledge about the feelings stirring and gathering strength inside of her, begging to be released.

All too soon, she and her king were standing in front of the entrance to her lodgings, where Thranduil commanded an assigned guard to take his leave for a time so as to give them privacy. The guard left without so much as a dubious glance, though Tauriel suspected his mind was, in actuality, reeling from seeing the pair of them together outside her rooms.

Tauriel peered up into Thranduil's beautifully pale, nonplussed face, unwilling to break contact. Flickering torches along the walls cast a series of harsh lights and shadows across his sharp features, making his countenance rather difficult to read; but she noted the soft trace of a smile that framed his lips, and that comforted her.

"Thank you for tonight," she heard him whisper in kind, the hand that caressed hers rising to meet his mouth, where it lovingly ran a series of gentle kisses across each of her knuckles.

Tauriel's want to reply escaped her tongue. She stared on, piqued and utterly captivated by the sight of her king's handsome, warm lips pecking the top of her hand. "I..." she started and stopped more than once, eyelids fluttering madly until the kissing ceased. "Thank _you_," she finally managed through a dry mouth once she could grasp at words again.

Thranduil stepped closer, and Tauriel mindlessly hitched a breath. His opposite hand—the one that wasn't holding steadfast to hers—reached up and stroked the length of her left cheek, sliding from a red curl that dangled close at her ear to the tip of her delicate jawline. What he said next left her momentarily breathless.

"Tell me again?" It was uncharacteristically vulnerable, especially coming from _him_, and yet, it was pure as well, wholesome and ardent at the same time.

Tauriel leaned into the exceptionally tall Elven king without awareness, though she would have willingly done so in that tender moment. "_Gi melin_," she breathed once more aloud, the words so low that no one else would have overheard them. She held her breath at the faint shudder of an exhale he emitted in response, as though her declaration was finally real to him.

"And I, you," he returned in a slowly drawn murmur, the small smile he wore extending to his bright blue eyes. "Yes... I love _you_, Tauriel..."

It felt like a dream—too fantastical to be real—and yet, in the next moment, Thranduil's lips were pressed against hers, tentatively imploring for more of her sweetness. Tauriel unfurled like a bud in spring, accepting him with a hushed, breathless moan of desire, and he responded in earnest. Her hand squeezed his as her mouth opened gladly, readily, to receive more of him, whilst the other clutched and clawed at his robes, pulling the Elf closer and closer until there was nowhere to go but to collide as one. Her breasts heaved and pushed against his chest. He groaned long and deep into her mouth, sending a shiver of excitement spiralling down Tauriel's spine.

Reluctantly, all of a sudden the kiss broke apart, though not of Tauriel's choosing. Her eyes shot open, confused, not having realised they had shut to savour and enjoy the moment. She saw Thranduil towering over her, with one arm wrapped securely around her back. They both were panting hard, the friction of their clothing brushing and shoving against each other, and Tauriel couldn't prevent the severe blush that broke out on her cheeks and spread rapidly to her pointed ears.

"Was that...too forward?" he stunned her by asking, his expression a mixture of awkward dread and what appeared to be hope; desperate hope that he hadn't just mucked things up before they even had a chance to begin.

Tauriel suppressed a nervous laugh. "No, not at all...my Lord."

Thranduil cringed at her formal address, much to Tauriel's regret. His breathing also stilled. "How are we to...?"

"To continue this?" Tauriel finished for him, though with hesitation, to which he nodded. It certainly put a damper on what had been a fervid exchange up until now. "I... I'm afraid I'm not certain."

"Nor I." Thranduil quietly stepped back, his hand skidding from Tauriel's back to the front of her waistline. "I...should speak to him," he spoke of his son, an upsetting subject they both seemed ill-at-ease about broaching. "That is, before we take things any farther..."

"Allow me?" Tauriel found herself suggesting. She tread forward and touched his arm. "I believe it's I who owe Prince Legolas an explanation now..."

"Tauriel—" the king started to caution but she resolutely shook her head, convinced.

"I didn't answer him before. I... I _should_ answer him now. There's much he needs to understand, and it should come from me." Although Tauriel hated to admit it, for she would have loved to simply continue their heated exploration just now and see where it might lead, her sovereign was correct. His son was undoubtedly hurting because of her, and she had her own score to settle with the wounded prince. Instead of facing the problem, she had run from it. "I won't run from this anymore," she concluded in a soft, unfaltering whisper, giving Thranduil's arm an additional squeeze.

With much ambivalence, Tauriel then said her goodnights to Thranduil. She shifted around his lofty frame and stepped inside her quarters, smiling at him as she closed the door. The king remained in that shadowy corridor another moment, however, dawdling with an obvious thought on his mind—perhaps her—before he took off, either to his own bed chambers or elsewhere in his underground kingdom.

Tauriel dallied just beyond reach with her back leaning against the door frame. She was too wired for sleep, too emotionally raw over the two combative overlords in her life to consider anything—or any_one_—else.

How she wished King Thranduil hadn't pulled away from her! The fervour from that passionate kiss still lingered on her lips like sparks. She reached up a hand and grazed her fingertips over her mouth, where the king's had just been touching them only moments ago.

_Then again...he_ was_ right, Tauriel_, her aggravating conscience chose to elbow its way into her happy thoughts; she frowned into the darkness of her room. _You_ must _settle things with Prince Legolas, hopefully for the better. Neither you nor the king will have any real peace between yourselves unless you do..._

* * *

Legolas unthinkingly picked at some nonexistent dirt beneath his fingernails. What the bloody hell was he still doing here? _Not just here but..._here_?_ he lamented with a heavy exhale.

How long had he been standing before his mother's eroding monument, this mournful, grey statue at the entrance to the Woodland Realm, long ago overrun by vines, twigs, and debris to the point that it was barely visible anymore? He should have taken better care of it, Legolas told himself, as he inspected the wear that had taken place across much of his mother's sculpted face. He especially should have in light of how poorly his father had been since her death. It had been so long ago, and yet, sometimes, as it did now, the violent passing of the queen felt as if it had occurred only yesterday—a day that was forever burned into the king's and prince's memory as the fateful day that changed their lives evermore.

_Well, Ada's certainly fine now!_ the rage within Legolas snarled and spat; he quickly shook himself to rid his mind of such a poisonous thought. _No, he's_ not _perfectly fine... You know he's not, Legolas._

_And yet_, the other half of his mind thrust into his contemplations with mechanical laughter, _his character seems much improved since..._

Legolas swallowed. _Don't say it; don't think it._ Even in his own head, he couldn't bring himself to utter what would only twist the blade further within his wounded heart. _Her..._

"Prince Legolas?"

Legolas stiffened on the spot. He would recognise that exquisite voice anywhere, as far as Middle Earth might take him (and her tactic of running away recently sounded quite considerable given the present circumstances). Legolas slowly turned around, his hands thoughtlessly clamping into fists at the aching sight of her.

Tauriel stood within arm's reach of him, green eyes assessing his rigid body language with obvious discomfort, wishing to determine whether she could sensibly approach him or should keep her distance. Apparently, she concluded that it was all right to come nearer and cautiously stepped closer. Her red hair was a radiant, spiriting torch amidst so much dull decay and decomposition that the rest of the Woodland Realm's scenery was providing. Her Elven luminescence nearly sliced the prince in half to behold but, somehow, he kept his senses intact—for the moment.

"May I speak with you?" she asked him politely; too politely, as far as he was concerned.

"You may," was the prince's rather clipped reply, and Tauriel's shoulders tensed.

"I..." she started, opening and closing her mouth before declaring in a hasty breath, "I'm sorry for the other night."

Legolas made a purposely gradual cross of his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw, his fiercely blue eyes torturing hers with their blazing glare. "What part exactly?"

A hard line formed between Tauriel's eyes, but she kept her temperament collected. "All of it," she answered.

Legolas's brow furrowed at that. "'All of it'?" Somehow, he surmised he shouldn't let the faintest trail of hope override him at such a general statement.

"I wish you hadn't discovered my feelings—_our_ feelings," she corrected herself, much to his simmering chagrin, and he flinched, "that way..." The prince then offered a disapproving grunt, but Tauriel pressed on, fully aware that none of this conversation was going to be pleasant or easy. "And I shouldn't have run off like that. I should have stood my ground and answered you good and proper, but I... I didn't..."

"No, you didn't," Legolas concurred with harsh emphasis. "You ran. You dodged to avoid any responsibility."

Tauriel's expression hardened. "With all due respect, I wasn't_ ready_ for you to bombard me as you did—"

"'Bombard' you?"

"_Yes_," Tauriel asserted with a brazen raise of her chin. "In fact, I still find myself not entirely prepared to have this conversation with you, but here I am, aren't I?" At Legolas's continued stare down, she added with more calmness, "I won't avoid you now, Prince Legolas; or anything you wish to ask of me."

After chewing on that proposal for a pause, Legolas issued, sounding glum, "I thought I was merely inquiring as to where your feelings lay with my father, not 'bombarding' you to be honest."

"Well, you _did_," Tauriel declared, refusing to back down on this point; she placed her hands firmly behind her back, keeping her eyes focused on his. "You tried to make me feel guilty for the sentiments I felt, and how I feel now; for kissing the king. You made me out to sound advantageous when I would _never_ orchestrate such a move, with your father or with anyone, were I not quite certain of how I felt."

"Yet your response when I confronted you was..." Legolas replied through his teeth, angling his head as well. "What was it? Oh, yes: 'I hardly know.'"

Tauriel's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon, Prince Legolas, but wouldn't it be reasonable to reply as such when one is caught off their guard and, rather, demanded to confess their innermost feelings for another person both in front of them _and_ another?"

At this, Legolas only shrugged. "I wouldn't know; I've never been put on the spot like that." He quickly carried on before she could speak, "But, if the person I loved was standing right in front of me, I believe I'd have no qualms with owning my deeper regards for that person, especially if we had just shared an intimate kiss on the lips."

Tauriel closed her eyes, wishing to wheel in the want to heatedly rise to the royal Elf's remarks. They were cold and calculated, and not how she wished for this heart-to-heart to go. "I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree then. As you said, Prince Legolas, you have never been put on the spot as _I_ was, and, believe me, I wish you hadn't done that to me."

"Why? So, you wouldn't be forced into telling my father the truth?"

"The '_truth_'?" Tauriel stressed, her arms flying forward from behind her back. "The truth is that I _do_ indeed love your father, but I wish I could have made that declaration to him privately, and without your interference!"

Legolas's jaw visibly tightened. "So...you _do_ love him then?"

"_Yes_! Unquestionably!" she announced without a second's hesitation.

Legolas's glower deepened. "Then you... You knew what you were doing when you kissed him?"

Tauriel shot the prince a befuddled look over before answering, her tone resolute, "Of course I did."

Legolas's crossed arms dropped to his sides, sagging like two weighty, defeated anchors. His eyes, too, sunk to the ground, unable to any longer stare Tauriel in the face. The intensifying atmosphere that had been building between them plunged like an arrow back to Middle Earth, and all Tauriel could do for the next few moments was stare on at her beaten prince, pained by his visible agony and uncertain as to how to carry the conversation forward.

When it became quite apparent that Legolas didn't intend to speak up again—or, at least, speak first—Tauriel swallowed and took a fresh step towards him. "Prince Legolas," she beseeched him in a quietly pleading tone she inwardly prayed would appease, "I... I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I'm sorry for hurting you so. It was never my intention to emotionally wound you, and so deeply, as I've done.

"I... I _do_ love you...but as my prince—as my future sovereign of this realm—and I... I cannot deny my feelings. I simply can't and I'm so terribly sor—"

"_Stop_," Legolas blurted out with strident insistence, tossing a hand up in the air. "Stop," he repeated more softly and peered into Tauriel's eyes, an anguished expression tainting his smooth, graceful face. It broke Tauriel's heart, for she knew she was the direct cause of such utter despair, and yet, she couldn't look away. "I can't. I won't have you apologise to me over and over again for your sentiments. It... It only makes things worse."

Tauriel frowned, instinctively reaching out to him. "Then...how else are we to move forward from here?"

Legolas let forth a burdensome sigh, glancing at the leaves scattering at their feet, before his eyes fell back on hers, saddened and beaten. "I don't know, Tauriel, but..."

At the silence that ensued, Tauriel extended her arm further, but the prince remained just out of her grasp. "I _hope_ we can move forward? Somehow... Perhaps..."

Legolas's stared on, resistant and unforthcoming anymore. "All proper things take time," he eventually replied, and Tauriel's shoulders slumped at that insufficient but begrudgingly appropriate answer. The prince glanced away from her, placing more distance between them by taking a considerable step backward as well. "Just as you cannot help your feelings for my father," he stated softly, "I...cannot help my sentiments for you, Tauriel."

"I know," she whispered, staring at his emotionally injured profile with sorrow, though he didn't see.

"I still love you." His voice was bleak, worn. "I may always love you..."

"I know." Tauriel tried to push down the lump forming at the back of her throat. Tears, too, were welling up in her eyes. "I hope you can find peace, Prince Legolas; I _really_ do. I'd like nothing more than that for you."

Slowly, the prince bowed his head, and without meeting her gaze. "Thank you."

Without a sound, Legolas glided off out of sight, his agile silhouette disappearing between the dying trees and overextended brush. Tauriel watched him until he disappeared completely and then she broke down, weeping ever so quietly for the Elf she had looked up to like a brother.

Their talk had gone about as unfortunately as she had imagined it could, though she told herself that she would continue to hope—_Hope against hope!_—that she and Prince Legolas might eventually, one day, be able to come together as friends once more. _Please... Hopefully._

* * *

"Hîr vuin?"

"What is it, Lathron?" asked Thranduil without so much as glancing up from the text that held his engrossment. Spending time in his extensive library today had, so far, proven a decent distraction from a certain redheaded Elleth he hadn't glimpsed since late the previous evening. _This morning_, Thranduil's mind promptly reminded him.

"Urgent news from the North!"

At the direness detected in his secretary's voice, as well as his unusual panting, Thranduil blinked and peered up at the elder Elf striding briskly towards him, clasping a rolled up correspondence in his hand. He tossed it onto the king's desk, who immediately took it into his possession, unfurled it, and began to read.

"They're assembling," Thranduil stated with the raise of an eyebrow, his eyes expanding further and further as he read the entirety of the letter's contents.

"A gathering has been called up," Lathron interrupted, still working to catch his breath. "Lord Elrond requests one of ours to represent the Fellowship—"

"And we shall answer," Thranduil professed reassuringly, closing the letter and staring off into the distance whilst Lathron looked on, waiting. "Have Berialagoswen send for my son."

Lathron blinked, unable to withhold his surprise. "You mean to send the prince to Rivendell—"

"No, of course not," Thranduil scoffed and batted at the air with a wave of his hand. "I'd simply like him to be here and help advise me on who I should send."

Lathron nodded. "Very well, my Lord."

* * *

**Elvish Translation:**

_**Gi melin = I love you**_

* * *

**A/N #2: As you can see, I'm speeding up the timeline between _The Hobbit_ and _LotR_ here, but, well, this is AU material, so that's gonna happen!**

**Did anyone miss this story? If so, and if you're still with me, I'd love to hear from you...**


	13. Na lû e-govaned vîn (Until next we meet)

**A/N: I'm relieved and humbled that many of you are still committed to this little story! I thank you for sticking it out to the end. As such, this chapter came together a_ lot_ quicker than it would have otherwise without your lovely feedback and support, so... *HUGS***

**I'm thinking there will be one or two more chapters and possibly an Epilogue to wrap things up. We'll see what develops, but I _did_ promise a couple of you some well-earned Elf bunny M-rated material a while back, so, rest assured, that's still comin'. ;)**

**Anyway, on we go!**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

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**Chapter 13: Na lû e-govaned vîn (Until next we meet)**

* * *

"Is Aragorn amongst them?"

"Yes," Thranduil acknowledged his son's question with a slight bow of his head, remaining seated within the comforts of his grand study whilst the prince stood at the front of his oak desk, contemplative and rather quiet. Both had been still and calm up to this point as they openly discussed Lord Elrond's latest correspondence, with Lathron looking on from afar. "I trust you met him on your recent travels?"

Legolas nodded, adding with a sudden saddened expression, "He's a good man, though tormented over a past for which he can't change or alter its course."

Thranduil angled his head, curious. "You think he can be swayed to put aside the ranger once and for all?"

Legolas crafted his answer most carefully and said, "I fear he may never be swayed to become the king he was born to be, but, perhaps..."

At the abrupt lapse in conversation, Thranduil's piercing blue eyes shifted, growing evermore uneasy the longer they bore into Legolas's. "You mean to go to Rivendell and persuade him."

The words were a mere whisper on his tongue, hesitant and fearful-sounding. Legolas blinked and offered Thranduil a sympathetic look over. "I think the more his friends gather to him, the more confidence Aragorn may gain."

"But that is all,_ yes_?" Thranduil pressed, his upper body stiffening in his chair.

"No, Ada..." stated Legolas slowly, delicately, eyes darting to the floor before returning to his father's angst-ridden face. "I think we _both_ know the most suitable candidate to send to Rivendell to possibly join the Fellowship would be...me."

"_No_." At once, Thranduil shot out of his chair, his lean, towering form twisting like a lion ready to pounce upon its young. "You've only just arrived!"

"I've been here for weeks, Ada—"

"_And you're not content to stay_?"

Legolas's mouth curled at the overt injury detected in his father's tone of voice. Neither his honest countenance nor his words would soften the blow he knew Thranduil was about to feel, wholly and without mercy. "No, Ada," he confessed in a softer register, "I'm not. We both know why that is as well, but I don't want any further apologies; or for you or Tauriel to suffer," he added in haste, particularly on account of the wounded stare that surfaced on Thranduil's face.

"But... But I've been waiting for you to come home, Legolas... I've been waiting for so long..."

Legolas felt his resilience tearing at the seams at the hard, crushing evidence of Thranduil's pain. He tried to push on, expressing to him quietly, "Staying won't allow me to heal, Ada. I... I can't remain here and watch what _should_ be the natural progression between two individuals who are very much in love." Thranduil stilled at that last bit, not so much as daring to breathe anymore, and Legolas continued, with a forced half smile, "You're in love with her, Ada, I can tell, and she... She loves you, too. I have no wish to come between that."

"But Legolas—"

"And I can't, in good conscience, stay to bear witness to what will only cause me further pain when it _should_ bring me only pleasure and happiness to see you both in such a place.

"I... I want your contentment, Ada—more than anything, I want you well and at peace with life—and, perhaps, sending myself away will allow me to eventually grant my father what he rightfully deserves from his son."

Bereft of words, Thranduil was barely able to utter a strained, beseeching, "Legolas, please..." He extended a hand to his son, who stood too far from him to be reached, and yet, still he tried. Legolas wouldn't budge, however, prompting Thranduil, with crumbling defeat, to lower his gaze. He started to bring his hand back to his side as well when it was unexpectedly seized by the prince, who grasped it firmly in his and, with the other, he clutched onto the king's shoulder.

"Ada, I _must_ do this," he insisted, speaking with a certain tenderness those outside of immediate family rarely heard. "Trust me, it's the right course. I can be of great use to Aragorn and to the Fellowship; I know it. We have a chance to win this war if we act quickly, and there _will_ be war, Ada. I know how much that grieves you to hear but it _will_ come.

"And without my interference, you and Tauriel will be free to move forward together as... As can I." He stared imploringly into Thranduil's eyes, resolved and determined. "Please, Ada... Let me go. With your blessing."

Thranduil stared on, motionless before the pleading prince, unable—or unwilling—to accept the reality that Legolas desired to leave Mirkwood once again. His first instinct was to deny and refute him, for the mere idea of Legolas going off to war not only shattered his heart but petrified him to the point that his knees began to wobble.

Yet, as he stared down into Legolas's face, fearless and bold and utterly fixed upon its current trajectory, Thranduil knew in his heart that he couldn't refuse the Elf's request. The prince was grown, after all, and perfectly capable of making this brash decision freely and for himself, and yet, he cared for his father enough to still want his consent. That gave Thranduil pause.

Slowly, the king reached out to caress his son's pale cheek, his fingers trembling with desolation and worry despite what he realised he _must_ grant him. Eventually, Thranduil found his voice, though it was much weaker than before. "I... I never wanted in a million Ages to bring you pain, ionneg."

At that, Legolas stepped forward, his hand sliding from Thranduil's shoulder to the back of his head. Thranduil inclined his head forward, bringing father and son forehead to forehead. "Nor I, you, Ada," Legolas whispered, and repeated it again.

Both of them stood in heartfelt silence for a short while, until the prince broke their contact by taking a small step backward. His hand slipped from around Thranduil and dropped to his side. Thranduil didn't move, however, only searched his son's unwavering countenance, desperate to commit this defining moment of No Return to memory.

"Very well," he consented, though the words came out feeble and broken rather than at all strong. "Be careful," he added in anguish, to which Legolas nodded.

"I will, Ada."

"Write to me...when you can."

Legolas provided a slim smile. "I will, I promise."

"If you need anything..." Thranduil endeavoured to speak more but hardly could. "Anything at all..."

Legolas's eyes glimmered in understanding. "I know, Ada. I know." He then bowed his head, offering his departing respect towards the king. "If you'll excuse me, I should pack."

"Yes... I suppose you must."

The moment the study doors closed behind Legolas's retreating footsteps, Thranduil sunk into his chair, unaware of the few tears that were trickling down his face. He heard Lathron in the background softly addressing him, but the secretary's remarks were fuzzy and distant. The king's mind—and heart—was elsewhere.

* * *

"A Fellowship?" Tauriel's brow furrowed in surprise as Firverior nodded emphatically. Although their conversation to this point had been a tad strained, for Tauriel, the information her old friend was sharing was far more compelling rather than focusing on any harbouring hard feelings between the two of them—for the moment. "But if Prince Legolas is the only one from Mirkwood to go..."

Firverior blinked, not following. "What?" he asked, awaiting further explanation.

"Well, it hardly sounds like a few individuals will be enough to defeat Sauron. Lord Elrond will surely require more aid."

"His Lordship isn't permitting anyone else to leave Mirkwood."

Tauriel crossed her arms and grumbled under her breath, "Of course not. That sounds about right coming from him."

"Tauriel?" came an unforeseen third party who had suddenly joined their gathering, which was presently taking place in an abandoned, shadowed corner of one of the kingdom's many underground caves.

Tauriel startled and turned to face Lathron, the king's long-standing secretary, who stood off to the side and carried several rolled parchments under one arm. He eyed her sharply, encouraging Tauriel to politely excuse Firverior from their conversation. Firverior willingly marched off, leaving them to themselves.

Only once the Elf warrior was out of earshot did Lathron speak up again, "I believe the king has need of you."

"Oh! Have I been summoned?" Tauriel inquired, issuing a soft smile she couldn't contain.

Lathron's returning gaze was sobering, however. "No, you haven't, but he seems rather distressed. I thought you might consider starting your shift a little earlier than usual."

"Oh!" Taken aback by this development, Tauriel blushed and swiftly concurred. "Yes, of course. I'll go straightaway."

"He's retired to his personal quarters for the evening." As Tauriel brushed past Lathron, with the intent to make her way there as instructed, Lathron called out to her, stopping her in her tracks. "Tauriel," he spoke with weary candidness, "whatever it is between you and King Thranduil, go forward with caution but also with heart, if you please. He's already lost a great deal today."

Gripped by the silence those words invoked, Tauriel watched Lathron turn his back and noiselessly walk away, feeling the pressing beat of her heart slow to a crawl. On the other hand, her mind was now reeling a mile a second. The news of Prince Legolas leaving to join a Fellowship intent to destroy Sauron's One Ring may be entirely fresh to her, but she hadn't had time to consider for how long King Thranduil might have been wrestling with this latest personal blow.

The Elleth's feet increased their pace as she advanced through a series of stone tunnels, up and down several flights of elaborate, brightly lit staircases, and around at least a dozen corners. Although it was mere moments, it seemed to take her an Age to finally reach the king's bedchambers, where she rushed at the door, ignoring the two personal guards on staff, both of whom eyed Tauriel up and down with trepidation. She knocked twice before hastily seeing herself in. One of the guards hissed at her for entering without permission, but Tauriel readily ignored him and carried on.

At first glance, the expansive room appeared deserted. No torches were lit and the balcony doors were wide open, allowing a gentle breeze to flow through the space. Tauriel's senses told her that the king was still here, however, so she called lowly into the darkness, "Hîr vuin?" but received no reply.

She peered about as she stepped further into the room and, soon enough, she spotted the outline of the Elf she was searching for. Thranduil was standing on his dim balcony with his back towards her, shoulders hunched forward and with his head hanging low. His beautifully long, blond hair flapped gently against the wind, though the rest of him didn't so much as turn around at Tauriel's approaching footsteps. They were considerably light upon the smooth stone floor, but she knew the king had heard her and was choosing to remain completely motionless.

Tauriel stopped just short of him and quietly addressed him once more, only without the formal address this time, "Thranduil?"

It was the first time she had ever uttered his name and his name alone without the accompanying royal title. It felt quite inappropriate and foreign on her tongue, and yet, strangely stirring and wonderful at the same time.

At her address, Thranduil finally turned his head sideways, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. There was still no response, however, so Tauriel stepped around him to stand side-by-side. Staring up at him, and he down at her, she silently glided a hand through his, both of which rested atop his balcony. His touch was remarkably cold, telling her that he must have been standing out here for sometime. She let the quietude recommence for a while, turning her gaze towards the high trees and brush as the king had, before chancing to break the silence with a considerate question.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"What is there to say?" came his restrained, slow-to-respond reply.

Tauriel faced him again, but he kept his eyes glued ahead. Lost for words, she found the only remark she felt worth uttering was an "I'm sorry..." Thranduil blinked at her soft-spoken apology and peered down at her. "I trust he can't be persuaded to stay?"

"No."

Dismayed, Tauriel's heart sunk for the king. "Then I'm very sorry about that."

"As am I." Thranduil stared off towards nothing in particular over Tauriel's shoulder, his thoughts clearly far away from her. "He told me it was for the best; that it would help him to heal... To eventually be able to offer his blessing...for us."

"I see." Tauriel felt her breath catch in her throat at that. "I'd like nothing more than for you both to be at peace. I fear I've caused more destruction to your relationship than—"

"No," Thranduil asserted, shutting her down with that one word. He fully turned towards her and grasped both of her hands. "None of this is your doing, Tauriel."

Tauriel hesitated to believe him, opening and closing her mouth several times to discredit him in the process. Yet the words escaped her.

She was surprised when the king unexpectedly reached out a hand to brush through her long, red tresses, fingers lightly grazing the left side of her scalp with care. His touch, though still somewhat chilled by the dropping temperature, sparked a warmth through her body that ignited in her toes and sped through the rest of her at tremendous speed, extending to her legs, arms, up through her chest, and onto her freshly flushing cheeks.

Tauriel mindlessly closed her eyes, wishing to know the depth of his caress, even if his touch was so far feathered and wispy at most. "I'm honoured to have your heart," he suddenly spoke quite close to her face, the sweetness and warmth of his breath tickling her slightly parted lips. All of a sudden, Tauriel was paralysed, unable to so much as breathe or open her eyes to stare into his. She felt his mouth draw closer until it barely touched hers, those newly acquainted lips hesitant and merely skimming the surface.

Tauriel parted her mouth farther, gently pushed back, and Thranduil responded in earnest. Their lips locked and nudged one another's, testing and tasting and desiring far more than what they had thus far allowed of themselves. Tauriel's eyelids fluttered open to find Thranduil's had closed. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss apart and he, too, opened his eyes, staring down at her with newfound confusion.

"Does this..." She swallowed hard; her mouth felt abruptly dry. "Does this feel right to you?"

Thranduil scrutinised her closely, uncertainly. "Does it to you?" he challenged, his voice equally hushed.

There was a worrisome pause before Tauriel replied, releasing a shuddering breath as she answered, "Yes... It does."

"Then it does to me, too." He started to move in for another passionate kiss, but Tauriel put a hand to his chest to stop him. Her stare was no longer open but reticent and ambiguous.

"I... I'd never want to hurt you, Thranduil."

Thranduil's eyes livened at the delicacy with which she so lovingly spoke his name. "Nor I, you."

"And I'd never want you to come to resent me...because of your son..."

Sensing where Tauriel was both tenacious and disinclined to steer the conversation, Thranduil swept his fingers through her hair again and stared deeply into her eyes, holding her gaze. "Legolas and I have reached an understanding. Whatever the future of our relationship may be, its continuation—or its disintegration—will have nothing to do with you, Tauriel. We're both resolute on that, I can assure you."

"So, you... You promise you won't let me come between...?"

"You haven't, and you shan't. Our relationship has been strained for some time, well before you ever entered the picture. In fact," he paused to thoughtfully consider the fetching, fiery Elleth before him, his face considerably attentive and sincere, "you might very well be responsible for bringing us to a new understanding of one another."

Tauriel reared back, dumbstruck. "I - I am?"

Thranduil nodded. "I was broken and self-destructive before you intervened. For centuries, my own son couldn't reach me...but _you_ did." He watched the colour in Tauriel's cheeks radiate with new warmth and light. "You brought me back to life, Tauriel. That's something for which my son and I will be forever in your debt."

Once Tauriel trusted herself to speak, she placed an affectionate hand on Thranduil's cheek, and felt the light weight of him lean into her touch. "You don't owe me anything," she murmured, to which he turned his pale face inward to tenderly kiss her palm.

"You may tell yourself that all you like," he replied with a soft, amused chuckle, "but I intend to thank you for it for a very long time..."

To Tauriel's breathless delight, Thranduil inclined his head to kiss her once more, triggering a flurry of excited butterflies to well up in her stomach and expand through the rest of her petite frame. Her soul felt tingly with want, alight with something novel that only her heart's desire could arouse and bring to the forefront of her senses.

The surrounding temperature felt no longer cool but toasty and as comfortable as could be. Tauriel wilfully deepened the kiss, twisting in the king's arms in order to nuzzle and be as close to him as possible.

* * *

The following morning saw the prince's swift departure. He and Tauriel exchanged no words, only a couple hopeful, understanding glances outside Mirkwood's caves. Too emotional to utter a farewell, Tauriel braved a nod in his direction at one point, catching Legolas's eye, and he silently returned the favour.

After expressing his farewells to the many soldiers and personnel who had gathered at the entrance to Mirkwood's kingdom, Legolas halted last before his father, who stood stationary at the front gates, looking both glum and resigned to his son's fate. He took Legolas sturdily by the arm, and Legolas did likewise.

"Send my regards to Lord Elrond," he managed to convey in an even tone, though there was no reason to pass on such information. Thranduil already knew his son would do the appropriate thing.

Legolas accorded with a slight bow of his head. "I will."

"Be safe," Thranduil added before his son could let go; his grip unintentionally coiled tighter around Legolas's arm. "Be mindful. Send for me if you need anything."

"I will," Legolas replied patiently whilst continuing to wear a fragile but warm smile.

"Very well." Thranduil loathed to let go of the prince but finally relented, allowing Legolas to step around him and ready his white horse, whose hooves were patting at the soil, communicating her willingness to depart. Before he could properly mount her, however, Thranduil called to him in a louder, hoarse register, "Legolas," to which the prince stopped and met the king's gaze.

Thranduil's face had turned terribly heavy and forlorn in a matter of seconds, prodding Legolas to approach him again. Without a second thought, he threw an arm around Thranduil's neck and, despite their often lack of public affection, the king and his son shared a fierce embrace before their observing subjects.

"I _will_ see you again, Ada," he whispered into Thranduil's ear, and Thranduil compressed his arms tighter around Legolas's back. "You have my word."

"I will hold you to it," Thranduil tried to growl back, but the words came out shaky and fragmented instead.

Legolas laughed, wishing to put his father's mind and heart at ease, and pulled back from their hug first, his hand lingering upon Thranduil's shoulder. He saw the tears threatening to fall from the king's eyes and assured him in too quiet a voice for anyone else to overhear, "And I will make certain to keep my promise."

The prince's eyes swept over Tauriel for the briefest moment, spotting her easily amongst the crowd. She stood a considerable distance away by the front oak doors, watching them both with calm acceptance of what was. He then returned his attention to his father, whose eyes were still prickling with tears. He stilled the invisible dagger wrenching at his own heart and pleaded expressively, sky blue eyes staunchly boring into Thranduil's, "Take good care of her, Ada. Treat her as good and as faithfully as you treated Nana. That's all I ask."

There was a short pause, followed by a faint but unshakable, "I will," from the king.

Legolas and Thranduil parted at the same time, each taking a step back from each other, though there eyes remained fixed on one another. "Thank you," Legolas whispered, feeling somewhat assuaged.

Their arms unanimously drifted over their chests, extending from their hearts outward towards each other, imparting the Elven unspoken declaration of 'I love you'. The prince then turned away to astride his horse, who neighed in anticipation of their leave.

With one last parting glance towards Tauriel and his father, Legolas solemnly nodded and took off, his horse galloping at full speed away from the safety and security of their realm towards the Misty Mountains and what lay beyond: Rivendell. Whilst the Elves quickly shuffled back indoors, Tauriel remained rooted to the spot, watching the back of the king's unmoving contour as he stared intently at the point from which the prince had disappeared.

Gradually, she descended the stone steps and strolled over to him, though he didn't budge an inch. Her arm meandered around his back to provide a quiet, comforting embrace. Her head, too, came to rest upon his arm. She said nothing nor did he, but, lowly but surely, she felt Thranduil's strong upper form lean into her embrace. She peered up at his profile that was so crestfallen and painfully silent and witnessed the single tear that trickled down his cheek. Despite her dainty stature, she embraced him tighter still.

"I fear I'll never see him again," Thranduil breathed unsteadily, the words catching at the back of his throat.

For once, Tauriel fell silent and didn't offer forth any consolation. How could she when she, herself, thought the king was more than likely correct?

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**A/N #2: Sad, I know, but necessary to move things forward. Thank you to those who review!**


	14. Tanya farnuva (That will suffice)

**A/N: Okay, well, I'm not sure what happened with the last update as most folks seem to have suddenly disappeared...or changed their minds? :/ The story's almost over anyhow so I suppose it doesn't really matter, but, um, I'm still a tad confused. **

**Anyhow, this update is for those (lovelies!) who remain, and _I thank you for sticking with this story from the bottom of my heart_.  
**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

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**Chapter 14: Tanya farnuva (That will suffice)**

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"Tauriel," came a well-acquainted, wise voice from behind her, forcing the preoccupied personal guard to turn on the spot, "might I have a quick word?"

Tauriel, who had been on her way to meet with the king, offered her addresser a gentle smile and an agreeable nod. "Of course, Lathron."

Standing just outside of his office, Lathron extended a warm hand and welcomed Tauriel inside. She followed the secretary's lead as he noiselessly closed the thick office door behind them, glided past her to take a seat at his oak desk designed by their finest Elven craftsmen, and suggested that she sit down as well. Tauriel made herself comfortable in an unoccupied guest chair across from him and took a moment to survey his work area. It was tidy and organised to a fault, as the Elf was known to be, though two small stacks of parchment gathering height in the right-hand corner apparently still required his attention. They didn't go unnoticed either and prompted Lathron to pipe up before Tauriel could make her innocent inquiry, "From our friends in Rivendell and Lothlórien."

Immediately, Tauriel's ears perked up at mention of those names. Even her spine straightened in her chair at the casual but serious reference to their Elvish friends to the West. Substantial, nerve-wracking hearsay had heightened in recent weeks, mostly with regard to the return of Sauron and the Evil that had endured since his last downfall at the Lonely Mountain, now spreading to all corners of Middle-Earth. The troubling rumours had only worsened since Princes Legolas's departure and were growing more worrisome by the day, putting everyone of all ethnicities on edge, including the Elves.

Fear of war was no longer merely a concern for the future, for Tauriel and her people knew quite clearly that war with their enemy was now imminent. It was only a matter of when they would act—or, rather, when their _king_ would determine they would collectively strike—and such a weighty consideration was presently being laboured over by Thranduil. He had yet to reach the obligatory conclusion, however.

Tauriel had sensed his distress over such a hard-hitting, personal issue in these last few taxing weeks, as had many of their people who came into regular contact with the king; but Tauriel had kept up the hope that a decision would be reached, and fairly soon.

_Besides_, she reminded herself, _you really have no desire to stick your foot in your mouth again so soon, do you? I'm not sure Thranduil is as ready for your candidness as he so claims..._

Lathron's graceful features formed a stern but not unwelcoming stare at Tauriel. He braided his long fingers together in his lap and stated, with frankness and composure, "His Lordship's looking better of late despite...well..."

"Yes," Tauriel quietly concurred, uncertain as to where this discussion was headed but, for the moment, content to follow along, "I believe so. Prince Legolas's departure has been hard on him, but he seems to be adapting once again to his son's absence. He misses and worries for him terribly, of course."

"Of course indeed." Lathron gave a considerate bow and, catching Tauriel's curious, sharp green eyes as they darted once again towards the correspondences on his desk, stated, "No further news from the prince, I'm afraid. He and the Fellowship departed from Rivendell and reached the Vales of Anduin two days ago. I'm sure we'll hear something before too long."

_That would bring them not far from here_, Tauriel realised, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation pressing upon her chest. "I hope so," she replied with a restrained sigh of dismay for the king. "I think it would put King Thranduil's heart at ease to hear word on how his son's faring."

"He will, I'm certain of it. And I don't anticipate that that fatherly worry is likely to change."

"No, nor I."

After a weighty pause, Lathron made another forthright inquiry, "Have you given anymore thought to my proposal, Tauriel?"

Tauriel blinked, recalling what the secretary had asked of her not too long ago and for which she was still treading lightly. "I didn't realise that that was a proposal you were presenting to me."

One corner of Lathron's mouth twisted into a smile. "A suggestion then, if you'd prefer."

Tauriel acknowledged his question with a curt nod. "I have, though I haven't quite figured out how to approach the king yet. We're..." She paused, her cheeks and pointed ears suddenly flushing scarlet despite her efforts not to convey emotion on such a private, sensitive subject. "We're still coming to understand one another, you see..."

In fact, that was very much the heart of the matter: Tauriel and King Thranduil had grown considerably closer since Prince Legolas's emotional exit. Without the prince's frequent interferences—or the emotional drama that two newly in-love Elves had evoked from their spurned, unwanted third party—the two had quietly come to a better understanding of each other, as well as their growing attachment. Both the king and his former captain were determined to take this newly-formed relationship slowly, and the process of getting to know one another on a deeper connection was freshly exciting. Navigating the treacherous new waters of Love was also fretful and foreign territory, though.

"I understand." Lathron's soft-spoken reply brought Tauriel's wandering thoughts back to the present. The shrewdly observant secretary had brought his intertwined hands to his chin, pressing his elbows into either side of his chair as he continued to survey a blushing Tauriel. "Forgive me if you find my inquiry out of turn, Tauriel, but I wanted to ask after King Thranduil's emotional state. Seeing as you've become his closest confidant..."

Tauriel felt her ears practically radiating with heat at that. "We're close, yes..."

"You needn't be so self-effacing, my Lady." Lathron provided Tauriel with a certain smile she recognised from the past; it was both knowing and somewhat devious, though hardly ill-intended. "I'm most obliged that the king has sought your counsel and your attentions of late. He..." He abruptly ceased speaking, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "He's been dangerously isolating himself for too long. It's been my greatest wish that he might learn not merely how to cope with life but discover how to _live_ again."

Lathron paused so as to allow his dark, twinkling eyes to convey an important understanding to Tauriel. "You see?" he prodded her, to which Tauriel solemnly nodded. He exhaled a small sigh in return. "And...the drinking?" he questioned with noted reluctance.

"That, you needn't worry about. I have faith that the king won't resort to his old, destructive habits of coping. Not anymore."

Tauriel felt her heart skip a beat as she conveyed those defining words with confidence. So much in the Elf she had come to regard with such warmth and affection had changed drastically since she first returned to Mirkwood. Now, those positive actions were being fully realised.

An expression of relief washed over Lathron. "Forgive me. Again, I don't mean to be intrusive."

"Not at all." Tauriel's smile waned. "You care about him, and _I_ appreciate that as much as anyone else who's genuinely considerate of the king's welfare. Thank you," she added, her expression sincere and heartfelt.

"Thank _you_, Tauriel."

Not wishing to prolong their discussion any further, Tauriel leapt to her feet, showcasing more boundless energy than the norm. She was anxious to be elsewhere, and Lathron sensed it and didn't press her to stay. "Now then," she said as she turned on her heel and politely saw herself out, "if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else I have to be."

* * *

"Thranduil?"

Tauriel was admittedly still coming to terms with being permitted to speak the king's name, and so recurrently at that. Not only had he encouraged her to keep doing so since that unforgettable evening spent on his balcony before Prince Legolas left, but he had shared a confession with her since that he 'much enjoyed' hearing her say it. Every utterance so far had left Tauriel with a thrilling but jittery array of butterflies in her stomach. It was very unlike her, and a peculiar sensation she hadn't experienced since another time in the not-too-distant past; the only other time she had ever found herself in love. She forced the nerves away as much as she could, but saying the name—_his_ name—kept stirring something akin to intoxication inside of her that, as of yet, couldn't be tamed.

"Thranduil?" Tauriel repeated as she proceeded to stroll through his empty bedroom, finding both the space and his balcony deserted. "Where are you?"

"In here," came his rich voice, though from a distance, in an adjoining room that Tauriel had yet to step inside.

Tauriel's intrigue saw her moving agilely towards his presence. She turned a corner at the edge of his bedroom, strode down a narrow hallway, and entered a room to her right that led to none other than the king's changing quarters. Tauriel's sight hovered a moment to inspect the beautifully lit space, vast in size and showered to the brim with garments of many eye-catching colours.

Her captivated sight lastly fell upon Thranduil, who was seated off centre and not making a sound. He was dressed in breath-taking royal blue robes that were half draped over his thighs and exceptionally long legs, presently crossed at the ankles. The white trimmings flickered like stardust against the lights, but Tauriel was more taken by the his rather laid-back posture. He was lounging in an oval-shaped sofa chair and looking rather unbothered, his immensely sharp eyes lowered towards the ground. He seemed to be inspecting his leather boots, though Tauriel suspected that he wasn't as interested in them as he appeared.

In his hands he held what she recognised at once to be his winter crown. The thorns were bare, nearly white in grain, and covered with winter berries. He hadn't yet donned it for the season, and its appearance forced Tauriel's awareness of just how much time had passed. Somehow, in the midst of everything, winter in Mirkwood had come again.

Those piercing blue eyes suddenly met Tauriel's, and she realised that it wasn't his lips alone that were smiling at her. "Will you help me with this?" he asked her thoughtfully, in such a soft-spoken register that Tauriel was left momentarily ill-footed. She made to recover without notice and approached him.

Thranduil rose from his chair and casually handed his crown to her, a terribly impressive, noble object that her people were never permitted to touch—at least, not without the king's permission—and Tauriel had certainly never held one until this moment. She was taken aback by how delicate and fragile it felt in her hands.

Thranduil bent forward at the waist, allowing Tauriel to easily place the crown upon his head without craning her neck. She fixed its slant to ensure that it wouldn't slip down his forehead before stepping back to admire its splendour, as well as the strikingly handsome Elf who wore it with such dignity and grace. It was an inherent thing, really—the king's ability to hold himself with such majesty—and not something one merely acquired with practice. Surely not Tauriel, she sometimes humoured herself imagining and burst into laughter at the absurdity of it.

_You'd be a disaster_, she would reckon with a chuckle.

Tauriel's adoration must have been obvious, though she wasn't aware, for it seemed to force Thranduil's cheeks to redden. His eyes also averted her gaze for a moment.

"I hadn't realised until now that winter has come," she confessed, bringing his attention slowly 'round. His smile was warm, yet subtler than hers.

"Much can change in a season."

"Yes...it most certainly can."

Such a statement was far more momentous than what was quietly exchanged in Thranduil's dressing room that evening, but both acknowledged its reality for themselves without further regard, swiftly moving on to other important matters. Time had seemingly slowed to a crawl the longer the king and his personal guard stared into one another's eyes, each feeling the weight of emotions the other carried.

Thranduil reached out to loop Tauriel's hand through his, appreciating the newly appearance of their intertwined fingers before he broke the stillness. His eyes drew back to hers, grave and unmistakably heavy.

"The Fellowship is drawing closer and closer to Mordor each day. My son is with them."

Sensing his reservations, Tauriel stepped closer. "I know. He'll be all right," she added, squeezing his hand in a gentle fashion she hoped might bring him relief to hear. Unfortunately, she found none in the apprehensive gaze he projected.

"Was I wrong to let him go?"

"No, Thranduil. He wanted to go, and you gave him that freedom."

"He—_they_—can't fight this war on their own..."

Tauriel angled her head slightly and felt her breath stall. Was the king finally declaring to her what she—and so many others—had been silently willing him to do, and for so long? "You're right," she assented, speaking as delicately as possible. "They can't. They need us."

She heard Thranduil take a shuddering, hesitant breath. His grip on her hand also tightened. "I have no wish to send more of our people off to most certain death."

"We don't know that," Tauriel tried to point out, exercising patience, knowing how adverse Thranduil was to act.

"Yes, we do," he argued with emphasis. "_I_ do, Tauriel. I've seen it many times over. Death... So much death... Our people..."

The king's face, filled with emotion, suddenly turned to stone. Tauriel tried to vocally reach him by plainly speaking her mind. "We know you don't want to go to war, Thranduil. We understand that; no one wants more death and destruction for our people, but... Thranduil, if we don't act, death and destruction _will_ come upon us. We _must_ fight." She then fell quiet again, hoping she hadn't spoken too out of turn, for it was exactly what she ahd wanted to avoid so early into their relationship. She caught glimpses of Thranduil's enduring struggle over her counsel—the dreadful notion of impending war; a war that couldn't be stopped—and found she not had not only more to say on the matter but more she couldn't withhold from the Elf she loved.

Taking a deep breath, Tauriel stepped even closer, the front of her robes brushing against his, and touched Thranduil's arm with her free hand. He didn't flinch but stared intently down at her, allowing her to continue her candid advisement, "We're a part of this world, hîr vuin. We have as much to lose and as much reason to go to war as any. I know how deeply this pains you, but have faith. Our people _will_ understand your decision. They'll support you; they'll rally to you. You're our king and we trust in your sound judgment."

"But the risks..." A muscle in Thranduil's cheeks flexed, aggrieved. "So much blood... So much Elven bloodshed..."

At the deeply-rooted sadness his tone took, Tauriel inclined onto tiptoe and, without a second thought, pressed a heated kiss to his cheek. "You are _not_ responsible for the fates of our soldiers, do you hear?" Sensing his inner disbelief at that, for the torn expression he wore was enough to indicate otherwise, she pushed on, speaking more urgently, "Your responsibility is to the Woodland Realm and to our people, Thranduil. The outcome on the battlefield is not up to us. If any of our blood is to be spilt, it will lie on our enemies' conscience, not yours.

"You fight for our welfare—for our very existence—and our kin will lay down their lives time and time again for that credence. It's a cause _worth_ fighting for, hîr vuin. _It's worth everything_."

"Even the sacrifice of your own life?" he countered wistfully, his exquisite face freshly tainted with such pain and despair that Tauriel's balance faltered.

"Yes," she concluded once she had regained her footing, meeting Thranduil's ordeal with hope rather than anguish, "_even mine_."

Tauriel was surprised but encouraged by the faint tug of a smile that unexpectedly emerged at a corner of Thranduil's mouth. His regard was open but pensive as his eyes bore into hers. "Speaking like a wise Captain of the Guard..."

Colour flushed Tauriel's face. "I was forced to make peace with what haunts you so a long time ago, my Lord." A special understanding met that remark, so Tauriel continued on, explaining softly, "I could never have led your troops into battle before if I hadn't forced such burdens from my mind. It's a mentality that's still difficult to abide at times but—"

"You understand." Thranduil blinked, enlightenment drawing upon his face like the rays of the rising sun. "I've been so blind." He respectfully bowed to Tauriel, his stance stronger as he continued to grasp her hand firmly in his. "You understand, Tauriel. _Thank you_."

Tauriel could feel her blush intensifying and tried to, at once, play it down. "Don't mention it—" she started but Thranduil interrupted her.

"_No_." He went on to clarify, his voice marked by a candour Tauriel wasn't yet accustomed to hearing, "I am in need of your counsel, Tauriel. Going forward, I shall expect it of you implicitly. Always be honest and open with me, won't you?"

Moved more than she was ready to express, Tauriel settled for an affable smile and an affirmative kiss to the king's hand. She kept his hand inches from her lips, smiling up at him as she declared, "You shall have my counsel always," before adding, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "You shall have it whether you care for it or not."

Thranduil met that remark—promise, rather—with a supportive smirk. The heaviness in his eyes, too, lifted a touch. "I shall expect nothing less." He turned over Tauriel's hand and brought the inside of her palm to meet his lips, bestowing the enamoured Elleth with a series of kisses that were pressed lightly into her sensitive skin. Her heart reacted with faster beats. "_Thank you_," he expressed a second time, and the genuineness of his gratitude was undeniable.

Slowly, Thranduil drew their laced hands away from his face, though he kept them steadily interlocked. "That brings me to another matter," he whispered and wordlessly tugged on Tauriel's hand to bring her closer still; she accepted his nudging and allowed herself to be pulled to his chest, waiting. "Us."

Tauriel's eyebrows rose in question. "Yes?"

"I know it hasn't been long, Tauriel, but... Have you given much thought to..." He stopped speaking, peering down at her with unexpected uncertainty, even concern, unless she was terribly mistaken by his sudden fluctuation in regard. "Our future?"

"Oh!" _That_ had definitely been unanticipated. Tauriel scrambled to figure out how to respond. "Well... I..."

"I'm sorry." Thranduil frowned and shifted away from her at once. "It's too soon to pose that question, isn't it?"

"No, I just... I'm not sure what exactly you're asking." Thranduil looked on, utterly puzzled by her response. Tauriel sucked in a nervous breath, sensing the quiver that came through in her voice as she endeavoured to better explain herself, "I mean... I can be nothing more than what I am, hîr vuin. I... I'm no one special, you see. I carry no nobility in my blood; I have no ties to a higher class; I'm a lowly Silvan Elleth—"

"I should never have called you that," Thranduil cut in, sighing regrettably and shutting his eyes, as if to block out his actions of the past. "I should have never said that to my son; or permitted you to speak of yourself in that manner in my presence."

"No, no, it's quite all right." She rephrased her words due to the near glare Thranduil then shot her. "I mean, you didn't say anything that isn't true, Thranduil. I _am_ of low birth, after all."

"The status of your Elvish blood doesn't matter to me."

Inwardly, Tauriel was heartened to her core by such a profound disclosure. Weeks ago, she would never have fathomed such high regard from her king. Yet, her mind was also cautious, and not merely for her own sake anymore but for Thranduil's as well. She smiled, though somewhat painfully this time, for an unfortunate understanding had reached her that she knew both she and her king could no longer go on suppressing; not if they desired to move forward with their future.

"But it _does_ matter, Thranduil," she avowed quietly, staring into the depths of his eyes that now contained a nobler purpose she couldn't support, "and that cannot be altered, either by you or anyone else. Even Lady Galadriel would refuse such an alternation to the magical laws of our people. None wield that sort of power; we both know it.

"That leaves me to be the only thing that I _can_ be to you, Thranduil: yours...in everything but name."

_'In everything but name.'_

Thranduil's brow knitted together in angst. "But, Tauriel—" he beseeched, with feeling, but she placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

"_No_, hîr vuin. Please... Accept the terms as they are; as they've always been for our kind. I would never have allowed myself to come this far if I found it not enough for me. _Please_," Tauriel found herself begging and despising herself for it; she felt foolish but also suddenly desperate to hang onto the unobtainable Elf she had become madly besotted with, "accept it, won't you? Accept _me_."

Without a moment's hesitation, Thranduil reached out to cup Tauriel's face between his hands, his eyes desperately searching hers. "Of course I accept you, Tauriel." His thumbs gently rubbed against her cheeks, his forehead soon collapsing against hers. "I want you to be more than that, though. I know it's entirely forward of me to say so but... Nuuta, I want you to be _more_ than that!"

Tauriel gave a resigned, small shake of her head. Her hands folded over top of his, stroking them warmly as she uttered in a lamenting tone of voice, "I can't, Thranduil. I can never be your wife..."

Thranduil's lips bound together, clearly holding back, until he could no longer prevent himself from bursting out, "The people would love you!"

"The people would detest me more than they already do!" she chuckled back, causing Thranduil to huff with displeasure. "I'm too outspoken; too much of a troublemaker, remember? I'm hardly fit for it!"

"You could be with some practice!"

"No, Thranduil..."

Thranduil's jaw clenched, still in severe disagreement with her. "They would grow as fond of you as I have."

Tauriel flashed him one of her more playful smiles. "Perhaps they will...in time; or my overbearing opinions and the mere sight of me will simply wear them down."

"Tauriel..."

Sensing how much more the king was about to contest, Tauriel quickly patted Thranduil's hands and sighed, her smile still intact. "Let it go, Thranduil. Please... Just let it go." Seeing his visible floundering at doing so, she reluctantly stepped back, her touch falling away in the process. "I should leave."

"_No_!" he called out, startling Tauriel; he had never sounded so perturbed. His hands clutched her by the arms and eased her back to him in one fell swoop. "Please, Tauriel," he issued with forced calmness, "don't go. Stay?"

Tauriel felt the jitters in her stomach sputter to life all over again. She gulped and laughed nervously, "I would but I'm to start my shift soon."

With that, Thranduil pressed her into him, weaving his arms securely around her back as to prevent the feisty Elleth from squirming her way out of his hold. She hitched a breath, caught off her guard as his eyes stared intensely into hers. His next words left her stumped. "You're no longer any servant of mine."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow in challenge, wanting to (unsuccessfully) keep the prominent blush emanating her cheeks under some form of control.

Thranduil inclined his head, until their noses practically touched. "You're to be my equal, Tauriel...in everything but name." He paused on those defining words, asking ever so softly a moment later, "I want you to stay, Tauriel. Stay, won't you? Indefinitely?"

_'Indefinitely'?_ Tauriel's subsequent expression conveyed her mixture of shock and hopeful fancy at said prospect. She looked the king over carefully, finding his demonstration hungry, inviting, but also remarkably telling. He was not only serious about his proposal but uncharacteristically unguarded about his sentiments as well.

"You mean it?" she murmured, hoisting herself onto tiptoe to nudge them nose to nose. "You _really_ want me to stay?"

"_Yes_," came his resolute reply, prompt and without a glimmer of hesitation.

"Then you'll have me...as I am?"

There was another short interval of silence in which the only sounds were two separate hearts, now deciding to potentially beat as one. "_Yes_," came Thranduil's second wholehearted agreement. It hovered in the air like the steadfast constellations that loomed just beyond this underground fortress, ready guide the lost onward.

Except Tauriel no longer felt lost but found. She brought her arms around the king's neck and leaned heavily into him, finding his embrace fixed, unyielding; it was a hold she could most certainly adhere to. She grinned from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Very well then," she consented in a tender whisper. "I'll stay. Indefinitely."

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**Elvish Translation:**

_**Nuuta = Damn**_

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**A/N #2: 'Sexy time' is upcoming! And I'm not sure if the next chapter I post will be the last or if there will be an Epilogue to follow after that as well. We'll see what my muse decides...**

**On another note, some of you may not be happy with the direction I took in this chapter regarding Tauriel's future status alongside the king but, well, I can't write scenarios that don't feel 'real' or 'speak truth' to me, and the truth is: I can't envision Tauriel ever becoming Queen of Mirkwood. Not in canon and not in fanfiction either, I'm afraid. I don't see how in what level of Tolkien's multitude of hierarchies (which are admittedly too complicated for little 'ole me to keep up with!) that that would ever be permitted, let alone possible, so there you go! **

**_Thank you to those who review..._  
**


	15. Melda heri, Melda tár (Beloveds)

**A/N: After a year and a half, this story is _finally_ complete! While it's very bittersweet to come to the end, I think this fic has met with a satisfying ending (well, to _me_ it has). **

**Firstly, I decided to forego an Epilogue because I think this chapter holds up well as a solid ending to the story. It's a bit open ended for our characters, but, as the author, I find that I prefer it that way. **

**Secondly, I'm sorry that this update took as long as it did. I put a _lot_ of pressure on myself to get this portion of the story right, seeing as it's (obviously) a very important transition for our pretty pairing. I treated the 'act' slightly differently than the norm, too**—**since they're Elves, you know ;)—and you should get a clearer sense of that once you begin your read. **

**I hope this chapter**—**and, more importantly, this story**—**has met its faithful readers' expectations. Thank you to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging of this little story over the course of its long journey, and I hope it was worth your while to stick it out to its conclusion. Much love and hugs! **

**_Lastly, I would greatly appreciate it if you would please indulge me with your final thoughts as we wrap things up. Thank you so much!_**

**Warning: This chapter is rated M for mature content.**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

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**Chapter 15: Melda heri, Melda tár (Beloved lady, Beloved king)**

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Tauriel inhaled as long a breath as her lungs would accommodate, hoping to still her rapidly beating heartbeat in the process. The exhale that followed was shakier than she anticipated, providing little pacification to the nervous flutters roaming about in the pit of her stomach and offering little peace or composure. She was both anxious and excited as she lay spread across the the king's magnificent four-poster bed, fidgety, yet, willing for what was in store. _More_ than willing, in fact. Not only was the redheaded beauty's mind made up on the matter before her but her Elven Light was equally committed—insistent, even—to what her heart had already decided: her choice was _him_.

Tauriel was as enlivened but tense as any inexperienced Elleth might be in the methods of 'lovemaking', aware that the copulation about to take place wasn't a new practice for her partner, unlike herself. Thranduil was on edge, too, though, despite that outwardly cool exterior he had established (and perfected) Ages ago. Tauriel had caught glimpses of his anxiety a few times since they had begun their heavy, invigorated kissing session in the privacy of his bedroom. Those intensely blue irises couldn't lie, not to _her_ anymore. Their depths, which Tauriel had come to regard with understated warmth and respect, now roved over her face with a touch of caution and uneasiness, their communication transmittable but unspoken to this point.

Thranduil hadn't bonded himself to another since the tragic death of his wife over an Age before. Tonight would mark a special transition for the both of them, and Tauriel couldn't withhold the lump tugging at the back of her throat as she longingly gazed up into her lover's fine face, reading his Elven Light with quiet awe: he would not only have her, but he would commit himself to her in every way possible but in name. He may remain her king but, from hence forth, he would become more than the highest-ranking Elf in their kingdom to her; or someone to be merely revered from afar but not often addressed. To Tauriel alone would that social shift change quite dramatically, and she was ready for it.

_Steady, Tauriel. Trust. Let go_, she kept prepping herself, not unlocking her tense gaze from his.

It was trying not to be so restless—or a tad apprehensive—in Thranduil's presence, though. Lovemaking wasn't a practice the Elves took lightly. It wasn't a spontaneous act or conducted with tepidness, calculation, or without passion either; but it was a highly weighty decision, nonetheless. Unlike Mankind, sex was far greater than a mere physical pleasure between partners. Rather, it was a soul bonding union—magical for the Elves—and transcended them to another spiritual plane. Although she may continue to share Thranduil outwardly with their people, his body and soul would belong solely to Tauriel, and she to him.

_Let go, Tauriel. You've made your choice._

Tauriel drew in another quivering, excited breath. Months of personal growth, with added guidance from the heavens, had steered the lowly, formerly banished Elleth and her king to this decisive moment in time, and both parties were feeling its gravity and the irresistible, ravenous pull towards one another's cherished Light source. "Are you with me, Tauriel?" he whispered to her amidst the darkness, his purr subdued but filled with yearning, as he bent over her heaving chest and began leaving a series of feathery kisses atop the pulse point on her neck.

"To the end," Tauriel returned, utterly breathless to his ministrations. She let out a strangled groan when his warm lips reached the junction where her neckline met the back of her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut, wanting to memorise each sweet bestowment that touched her overly sensitive, porcelain flesh from here on.

It was difficult to keep her focus when the pounding of her heart was beating faster than ever, however. As Thranduil's heated breaths and taunting pecks trickled up and down her cheeks, slightly swollen lips, neck once more, and down to where the mound of her breasts met the top of her robes, Tauriel's breaths came in much quicker spurts. Thranduil didn't hesitate there, though, and continued his too tempting exploration of the Elleth laying beneath him. Strands of shiny, long hair tickled Tauriel's goose-pimpled flesh and brushed at her collarbone as two large hands slunk slowly up her sides, every so often digging teasingly into her curves. He pressed his lips in between her breasts, issuing only light kisses at first. They turned more eager once those same playful hands found her breasts as well.

Tauriel kept her eyes closed and resorted to chewing on her bottom lip after Thranduil furthered his experimentation. She hadn't expected to be so easily—or speedily—turned on by the intense feel of smooth lips on her increasingly sensitive skin or the manner with which his plush fingertips squeezed her hardened nipples through her clothes.

When she sharply became aware moments later of her own loud, moaning responses, Tauriel clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from uttering another sound. A thumb gently nudged her lower lip away from her teeth, breaking their too firm contact; she hadn't realised that she had nearly drawn blood from becoming so aroused, yet, restrained.

"Don't stifle yourself," he whispered close to her face, and Tauriel shuddered. His heated mouth lowered to hers and added, "I want to hear every sound you make, Tauriel; every gorgeous breath; every insatiable moan..."

An appealing smile spread across Tauriel's reddened cheeks, but her eyes remained shut, trying to savour every spoiling, sweet treatment the king was supplying her. Thankfully, to her galvanising excitement, Thranduil carried on without delay, paying ample attention to her breasts some more, though one hand slipped behind her back to try to undo the buttons that were keeping her upper garments in place.

Preferring those dexterous hands on the front of her body, and after writhing in frustration for a couple moments, Tauriel hastened onto her elbows. She nearly knocked a winded Thranduil backward, and assisted him with his efforts. Her robes were hastily disposed of and tossed somewhere onto the floor; Tauriel couldn't afford to care where they landed. She needed to be on her back again, with the seductive weight of a thermal Thranduil hovering over top of her in between her legs.

Once she had been properly disrobed—at least, from the waist up—Tauriel threw herself down on the bed again and gazed up at Thranduil for the first time in several minutes. He was staring at her, too, though his skin wasn't as ashen as usual. There was a nice, rose-tinted flush to his cheeks and bare chest, which Tauriel admired from her lower viewpoint, before his face and hands came back to where they had been prior to their minor interruption. Parts of his skin made tantalising contact with Tauriel's for the first time, and _that_ was enough to send Tauriel into a tizzy, for she hadn't even heard or seen the king disrobing parts of his attire as well.

She loved the pressure of Thranduil on top of her, even though they were both still fully clothed from the waist down. She relished his faithful, nonstop attentions as his (obviously) capable hands unapologetically explored her. In appreciation, she brought his face to hers to kiss with more fervour and urgency. Her greedy fingers skimmed along his scalp, needing to deepen the exchange as well as to keep the king close.

Tauriel's ardent efforts came to a sudden halt when she felt a tempered nudge between her thighs. Her lips abruptly broke from Thranduil's, both panting madly but without exhaustion, only thrill. Their fiery gazes glued to one another's, and Tauriel let out a small gasp when two distinct fingers rubbed up to the apex of her crotch, exercising slightly more pressure against the material of her trousers than the first attempt; but her eyes—and his—held strong to each other.

Then Thranduil murmured, his voice gravelly but soft, "You have nothing to fear, Tauriel. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," she assured him quietly, and she was surprised by how much she meant the words. The nerves in her stomach had all but dissipated, replaced by an undeniable craving and all-consuming want. She needed _more_ than this; the physical aspects were proving seductive in themselves but Tauriel sensed that she was on the cusp of something greater that the whole of her body couldn't quite distinguish.

A non-identifier was stirring within, and it seemed to match what Tauriel could visually see manifesting in her lover as well: their Elven Lights beginning their own connection, permeating and gathering strength by the pair's increasingly ravenous physical desires. Tauriel swallowed in awe. Evidently, there was more at play than just heat and prickling flesh bringing them together on this night; there was the perceivable confirmation of their Elven Lights intertwining as one, too.

"Tauriel?" Thranduil spoke up, sounding somewhat hesitant. "What's the matter?"

"I..." Tauriel started and stopped, finding it difficult to draw out the words she wanted to express.

A faint, golden glow was now outlining them, like the softest of rays overlapping in shadow. Reading where her mind had drifted, Thranduil asked in a tender whisper, "Do you see?" Tauriel's regard fell back on him, her inclinations fortified. Even Thranduil's irises, always a piercing, exceptional blue, were brighter on account of their Lights' divine intervention.

"Yes," she murmured back, blinking and soaking in what she saw but also profoundly felt and finally understood.

It was like being wrapped in an immensely warm blanket, though it merely coasted over their skin rather than swaddled them. It was wondrously new, and yet, they had only kissed and sampled one another's flesh to this point.

Tauriel's heart bounded with livened excitement and Thranduil, interpreting the inter-workings of the Elleth he had come to love, let his hand fondly grope her sex again. His fingers kneaded up and down Tauriel until she was soaked and nearly begging for release. Then they inched away momentarily to untie her trousers. Tauriel would have cursed the king outright for stopping his intense ministrations had she not unconsciously bitten down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming. Thranduil noted the return of her suppressing manoeuvre, for he arched an eyebrow but, otherwise, never allowed his attuned gaze to slip her face—not once—and Tauriel refused to unlock eyes either. No matter how the Elven king might work to make her moan or cry out in the very near future, Tauriel was determined to maintain eye contact. It hadn't been all that trying so far, what with their Lights' fastening to one another with greater security at each passing moment. The serene gleam covering their bodies was proving a nice distraction from Tauriel's nerves, which, too, were suddenly resurfacing.

Tauriel felt Thranduil's fingers coil possessively across her hips before tugging down on her trousers. With little effort, he guided them to around her ankles and slipped off her boots in order to remove them completely, leaving Tauriel completely bare and exposed. Her fingers clutched uselessly at the silk duvet. For whatever reason, now that she was entirely naked in front of her lover, her flighty nerves were back and in full throttle.

A towering, dark shadow crossed Tauriel's angst-ridden face, prompting her to look up at Thranduil again. He had stepped away from the bed to remove the lower half of his garments, too, all whilst keeping his gaze levelled and on hers. His demeanour was calm and put her at ease.

As their eyes met, he purposely slowed de-clothing himself, taking considerable time to toe off his leather boots and form-fitting trousers without so much as blinking or glancing elsewhere for the briefest moment. His painstaking efforts saw Tauriel scooting to sit upright and face him, her wavy, red locks draping ravishingly over her left shoulder; but she wasn't aware of such small pleasures, having only attention for the king. She watched with heightened delight as he, at last, exposed himself fully, standing before her as beautifully raw as her. He was pasty—his tall form arresting in its robust shape and size—and other worldly to behold. The visual temporarily stole Tauriel's breath away.

With a blushing grin, Tauriel shifted onto her knees, enticing Thranduil to inch closer. He leaned into the side of the bed, permitting a kneeling Tauriel to touch him as she saw fit. Following his conveyed, un-vocalised consent, her dainty fingers began their curious exploration of his strong, sturdy frame. Her hands roamed freely, from Thranduil's jutting collar bone to his broad, unfurred chest to his well-defined stomach muscles that clenched under her attention. Her smile widened at that; she hadn't expected her king to be ticklish.

Saving his well-endowed manhood for last, Tauriel's enthralled eyes rested there for some time, petal-like fingertips ghosting over his lightly dusted happy trail and across the impressive length of his shaft. He inhaled several deep breaths through his nostrils but kept steadfastly quiet otherwise, allowing her to continue. Once she began circling his tip, however, a small, guttural moan escaped Thranduil's throat that had Tauriel shivering in anticipation. Newly sheepish eyes peered up into the king's, finding that they had closed in order to relish her rewarding touch; but they flickered open soon enough and fixated on her flushed face. Whiffs of his uneven breaths permeated her cheeks as Tauriel boldly stroked him up and down, forward and back, testing the motions and making a mental note of what he liked best. Her pace slowed or quickened based on Thranduil's erratic breathing patterns.

After several blissful moments, Thranduil inclined into Tauriel to recapture her lips, his hands cupping her face as he moaned into her mouth; she echoed his sentiments in return. His hands found purchase around her upper arms and gently lured Tauriel onto her back again, where he nestled himself comfortably on top without crushing her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back the longer they kissed and provocatively brushed skin against skin.

"Thranduil," Tauriel declared moments later, sounding winded, though she hadn't tired of any of it; she reared back so as to stare lovingly up at him, "I'm ready. Gi melin."

Thranduil made a deliberate pause. "Gi melin," he then reverberated, his words filled with equal loyalty and adoration.

Another warming sensation of their Lights' energy spun and sparked between them, overpowering Tauriel as Thranduil's lips drew forward to connect with hers. She sensed their enhancement glistening, even as her closed eyes shut out their majesty to preferably soak in her lover's physical caresses.

Thranduil shifted above her but his small movements didn't disrupt their intensified kissing and stroking until, moments later, he slid inside of her. Tauriel hitched a breath as he proceeded to stretch her walls to capacity, though there was no pain, no discomfort, and no barrier to breach. What she felt instead was novel and unexpected: utterly whole and reborn. Their physical joining together was a mere pathway—the final passage towards the official unity to their Elven Lights—and both gave no lengthy halt to its culmination. Rather, they easily resumed kissing, fondling, and intertwining their limbs tighter together, burning for evermore of the other's taste and touch.

Tauriel soon found a matching rhythm to Thranduil's, who led their physical dance. Having him inside her and pressing her most sensitive areas was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and Tauriel found it difficult to maintain her goal of eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.

His gradual plunging movements were, at first, heavenly to receive but grew too tortuously slow for her liking. She groaned for him to pound faster and he obliged, though not without cautioning her to hold out. He cradled the back of Tauriel's head and nudged her nose to coax her now hazy eyes open. "Stay with me," he urged as he began dipping his hips lower and deeper into her.

Tauriel moaned in reply, "_Yes_... _Yes_…" Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, mind and body gone to the physical and celestial motions taking hold.

Thranduil roped one arm behind Tauriel's back, keeping her snug against him so that she wouldn't squirm. With the other, he reached down to circle her hypersensitive nub. She jerked and writhed in his arm. A strangled gnarl tore forth from the back of her throat and sounded unlike anything the king had ever heard. A pleased smile twisted the corners of Thranduil's mouth and he avidly repeated the motion; the more he stroked and rubbed at her clit, the more Tauriel's spine arched off the bed and her fingers dug into whatever skin of his she could cling to.

There were repeated gasps, acute moans, and breathless declarations of love, though their energy remained high and without need for respite, followed by further spirited kissing and an increasingly hastening pace towards climax. It wasn't sloppy or tediously predictable, either. Every admission was a whimsical confirmation, like a song, kindling the flame of their spiritual bond. Their skin never broke a sweat, even as their bodies rocked closer and closer to orgasm, their swaying forms illuminated like two birthing stars in a darkening universe.

Finally, Tauriel could hold back no longer. The desperate urge to reach for the series of constellations faintly appearing in her sights pushed her onward, and she bowed to their whim. Her back sharply arched, her throbbing chest pressing itself against Thranduil's. She threw her head back and cried out into the dark world—calling to the Lights of the Valar and their ancestors—and finally reached the cusp between the physical world and the spiritual realm which now tied her forevermore to her king. The exchange was brief and opaque, rousing and unforgettable.

Shortly thereafter, Tauriel collapsed onto the duvet—into Thranduil's tight, heartening embrace—her body nothing more than a heap of lax, temporarily unmovable limbs. Her eyes were watery as they bore into Thranduil's. The Light of their magic had since snuffed out, but the comforting sensation of their interwoven connection still lingered, and always would be present.

"Gi melin," the relaxed Elleth heard Thranduil rasp once more into the night air.

Tauriel peered up at him and gently cushioned the side of his face, whisking a few dangling hairs out of his eyes. "Gi melin," she, too, uttered without wavering. Somehow, saying it this time seemed to solidify their spiritual bond, and they sighed into one another's fold.

* * *

"Tauriel?"

Tauriel's lips curled upward. She was feeling quite dazed and assuaged by the ginger-working fingers that had been roaming through her tousled locks for the past half hour or so, luring her farther and farther into a late morning doze. "Hmmm?" she hummed in acknowledgment, her reply more akin to a moan than an answer.

Thranduil smiled discreetly into her hair. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course." Tauriel was too sleepy to consider that the king had just done the unthinkable: asked permission to make a mere inquiry of one of his subjects, a feat Thranduil _never_ vocally weighed beforehand with anyone...except, evidently, her.

A short pause later, "Would you consider...resuming your post as my Captain of the Guard?"

Tauriel's eyelids slowly opened, mind and body awakening at his unexpected proposal. Even Thranduil's soft digits grazing over her flesh this morning couldn't entice Tauriel to return to her near-slumber repose following such a question. For a lengthy pause, she said nothing, unaware of how her shoulders had clamped up. "You mean...?" she began, somewhat holding back. "Are you...? You're offering me my position back?"

"Yes," came his simple reply; his lips daintily nestled her forehead as he added quietly, "that is, if you want it. I'll respect whatever decision you choose."

Tauriel gradually brought her eyes to meet Thranduil's and propped her chin on top of his brawny chest. She found his returning expression to be just as thoughtful and open as her own. "Why?" she pressed him after a short lapse, curious as to his explanation for such a change of heart.

"Because you never deserved to have it taken from you in the first place."

Tauriel's eyebrows came together, perplexed. That answer was too simple to her. "But I showed disrespect to you in front of your own troops."

"And yet, what you said to me on that mountain was correct, Tauriel. I was a fool not to take your advisement under account."

_'Advisement'?_ _Is that how he sees it now?_ Tauriel's cheeks brightened, recalling hers and the king's angry spar that day. "Not everything I said at that time was warranted, though," she all but whispered into his skin, diverting her softened, green eyes towards the contours on his chest, which she lightly traced with her index finger. "I claimed that there was no love in you...and that was wrong of me."

"It wasn't _entirely_ incorrect," he retorted in a mirroring soft-spoken address, reaching up to enfold the hand that was drawing circles across his skin.

"No, Thranduil. You_ are_ loving and good...and have been understandably guarded with your heart. I shouldn't have told you that you were anything less than honourable."

At that, Thranduil took a moment to squeeze her hand. "I also insinuated that you knew nothing of love, as if I had any right to judge you on such a subject. I, too, was wrong."

Tauriel's serious expression morphed into an uplifting smile. For Thranduil, it was as though he was personally receiving the gift of the sun's warmth. "I should hope so," she snickered and leaned in for another kiss. Her breasts heaved against him, her slim frame melting into his side. He pressed her back to him as well, deepening the exchange.

Roused by Thranduil's reciprocation, Tauriel rolled over top of him and let her reenergised, eager hands comb through his hair, scrunching and tugging the strands in between her fingers. Thranduil responded by cradling her face, then her back, and, lastly, her perfectly round buttocks. Tauriel groaned into his mouth.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Thranduil asked, rearing back to smirk up at her.

Tauriel responded with one more all-consuming kiss, direly throwing herself against the king. She detected his favourable response stir beneath the sheets. "_Yes_," she confirmed and pecked him again.

* * *

Tauriel discovered Thranduil stooped over the side of his balcony and heavily immersed in thought, staring at a portion of the intricate, imposing cave that was his safely guarded kingdom. For over twenty-four hours, he and Tauriel hadn't left the comforts of his bed—_their_ bed now. Thus, waking in the evening and finding his side cold and empty had summoned Tauriel awake and searching for him in a flash.

Thankfully, he hadn't retreated far, and Tauriel stepped onto the stone balcony to join him in her bare feet and wrapped in one of his pale blue robes that had been flung over the bedpost. The monstrous thing drowned her and dragged considerably on the ground, but she didn't care and suspected Thranduil wouldn't either. He didn't seem to mind much what she did nowadays when it came to his personal space and belongings, so long as she didn't drift too far from his side.

"Thranduil?" she didn't hesitate to invade his privacy tonight, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. He remained hunched forward but casually turned his head to her, his shimmering, blond tresses rippling fluidly with the small toss of his head. "Is something wrong?"

His expression was accommodating when it met hers. "You should go back to bed, Tauriel, unless you're hungry? I can have food brought to our room."

'_Our' room?_ Tauriel admittedly liked the sound of that. After devouring dinner naked and in bed, snuggled against one another for warmth, and then retreating beneath the sheets again to let her king have his way with her, Tauriel's stomach was a touch famished and grumbled at the mention of food. Yet, her cares weren't so critical that they couldn't wait a little while longer.

Sensing that something was weighing much on Thranduil's mind, Tauriel's curiosity overpowered her hunger. She leaned into him and roped an arm across his back, her head finding suitable purchase against his shoulder. "What is it?" she prodded carefully.

Thranduil twirled the half empty goblet of water he held in one hand, his face carrying the burden of something not yet disclosed. "Tauriel," he began in a fainter voice than was normal, "I didn't simply ask you to be my Captain again because it was the right thing to do. To be sure, that was a large part of it, but..."

"'But'?" she pressed when he ceased speaking.

"Well, as you know, war is coming...and I can no longer afford to let my son and his friends fight Sauron alone."

"Of course you can't," she wholeheartedly agreed and stroked a portion his upper arm. "I know we must fight; _all_ of us. I'm prepared to do as you ask of me, Thranduil."

The king fully turned his head, his gaze austere and heedful. "It's quite a favour I'm asking of you, Tauriel."

"I don't see it as a favour at all."

"I'm asking you to lead our troops—"

"You're asking me to do my _job_, Thranduil; a job I carried out to the best of my abilities before; a job I can most certainly do again."

Thranduil's reserved features didn't falter. "You're certain you want this responsibility, Tauriel?"

"Yes, I'm certain."

"I'll be right beside you," he made to assure her, gazing deeply into her eyes as he declared each word, "to whatever end."

"'To whatever end'," she sombrely conceded, unaware of one of her hands now clutching his. With the other, she reached out and touched his right cheek, her thumb tenderly skimming the contours of its graceful structure. "_I see you__, hîr vuin_," she stated after a thoughtful pause, "and I'm with you."

Thranduil cradled her hand that was linked through his, raised it to his mouth, and left an affirmative kiss upon it. It was a silent 'thank you' for all she had done for him, and all she was about to do in the days, weeks, months, and (hopefully) years ahead. It conveyed his appreciation better than words could provide, though he did express, as he pressed her hand over top of his heart, "Melda heri."

"Melda tár," she returned with a warm-hearted smile. His eyes flickered at such high regard, and he took her chin in hand to bestow her with one more loving, captivating kiss—one of many to come.

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**_Gi melin = I love you_**

**_Melda heri = Beloved lady_**

**_Melda tár = Beloved king_**

* * *

**A/N #2: _Fin! _**

**Thank you for reading! :)**


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